Ellen Middleton : a tale

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L161— O-1096

ELLEN MIDDLETON

a ^ale.

LADY GEORGLiNA FULLERTON

" I have read of a bird which hath a face like, and yet will prey upon, a man, who, coining
to the water to drink, and finding there by reflexion that he had killed one like himself;,
pineth away by degrees, and never after enjoyeth itself. Such was in some sort the

condition of . This accident that he had killed one put a period to his carnal mirth,

and was a covering to his eyes all the days of his life. Death was so sent to liim as to allow
him time to rise up on his knees and to crie, ' Lord have mercy upon me.' "— Fuller' t:
Worthies, vol. ii., p. I/-

IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.

LONDON :
EDWARD MOXON, DOVER-STREET.

MDCCCXLIV.

LONDON :
BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEKRIARS.

V'i

ELLEN MIDDLETON.

VOL. I.

" From each carved nook, and fretted bend,
Cornice and gallery, seem to send
Tones that with Seraph hymns might blend.

" Three solemn parts together twine,
In Harmony's mysterious line,
Three solemn aisles approach the shrine.

" Yet all are one, together all,

With thoughts that awe but not appal.

Teach the adoring heart to fall." Christian Year.

•* But let my due feet never fail
To walk the studious cloister's pale,
And love the high-embowered roof,
With antic pillars massy proof,
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light ;
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full-voiced quire below.
In service high and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness through mine ear
Dissolve me into extasies,
And bring all heaven before mine eyes." Milton.

** What child of sorrow
Art thou, that com'st wrapt up in weeds of sadness,
And mov'st as if thy steps were towards a grave ? "

Otwav.

INTRODUCTION.

It was on the 15th of October, 18 — , that one of
the best and most respected clergymen of the town

of , and a canon of the cathedral, turned

his steps towards the eastern door of that ancient
pile. It was a little before the hour of evening
service ; the rays of the declining sun were shining
brightly through the windows of painted glass, and
producing that mellow and chastened light that
accords so well with the sensation of religious awe,
which a gothic edifice, the noblest of the works of
man, is calculated to inspire ; a work where he
has been enabled to stamp on what is material an
indelible impress of that spirit of devotion, which

b2

INTRODUCTION.

unites the utmost simplicity of faith with the
highest sublimity of creed.

Mr. Lacy's attachment to this particular cathe-
dral had grown with his growth and strengthened
with his years. In his youth he had learnt to love
its long deep aisles, its solemn arches, its quaint
carvings. During the pauses between the several
parts of divine service, his childish imagination
would dwell upon the topics of thought sug-
gested by the histories of saints and martyrs
depicted in the glowing colours of the glass-stained
windows, or in the intricate workmanship of the
minster screen. The swelling peal of the organ,
the chaunting of the choristers, awoke in his young
mind strange and bright imaginings of those things
" which the eye of man has not seen, nor his ear
heard, and that it has not entered into his heart to
conceive."

To wander in the cloisters, and gather the flowers
growing there among the old tombstones, and to

INTRODUCTION.

think the while of the lilies of the field, which
Solomon in all his glory could not excel ; or of the
wilderness that blossomed like the rose, at the word
of the Lord ; to collect in his own hands at
Christmas as much holly as his puny strength
could carry, and add it to the shining heap already
standing at the cathedral door; to follow it in, with
timid steps, and watch with wondering eyes, the
adorning of the altar, the pulpit, the stalls, and the
pews ; to observe with childish glee two tall bran-
ches, all glowing with their coral berries, placed by
the bench where he knelt in church with his mother;
to sit at home by that mother of an evening, and
with his Prayer Book on his knee, learn from her
lips how that glorious hymn which he so loved to
chaunt in church, and which spoke of angels and
martyrs, of saints and apostles, of heaven and earth,
uniting in one concert of adoration, had been
bequeathed to the holy church universal by a saint
who had served his Creator from the days of his

b INTRODUCTION.

youth, and never wandered from the sacred shade
of the sanctuary; for the baptism of another, who,
after straying far and wide in the ways of sin and
the maze of error, followed the while by a mother's
prayers and tears,' returned at last to the foot of
the cross,*

" With that free spirit blest,
Who to the contrite can dispense
The princely heart of innocence ;"

to hear her tell how the three solemn parts of his
beloved cathedral, all approaching the shrine in
distinct majesty, and in mystical union, were a
type and an emblem of the " Holy, Blessed, and
Glorious Trinity," so devoutly worshipped in the
opening verses of the litany ; to be often re-
minded by her, when the deep melodious bells of
the old tower spoke their loud summons to the
house of God on festival and holiday, of the time
when the faith in Christ was a matter of danger

* The Te Deum is supposed to have been composed by St.
Ambrose, Archbishop of Milan, for the baptism of St. Augustine.

INTRODUCTION. 7

and of death, and the sanctuaries were laid among
the vaults and the tombs — when in darkness and
in silence Christians knelt on the cold stones, and
a short hurried bell from the altar alone warned
them of the moment when the blessed pledges of
salvation were consecrated there. These were the
joys of his childhood. These were the thoughts
and the feelings which entwined themselves into
his very being, and wound themselves round his
heart ; blending the memory of the past with the
hopes of futurity. And when Mrs. Lacy, whose
health had been gradually declining, died soon
after her son had received the sacred rite of
confirmation, and for the first time knelt by her
side at the altar ; it was not before her trembling
lips had pronounced a blessing on the child, who,
with her hand locked in his, and his eyes fixed on
hers with the steady gaze of earnest, but, as far
as this world was concerned, of hopeless affection,
had given her the assurance that her people should

8 INTRODUCTION.

be his people, and her God his God ; that where
she had lived there would he live, there would he
die, and there also would he be buried.

As soon as his age warranted it he became a
priest ; and in the course of time, a canon of the

cathedral of — . What had been the joys of

his boyhood, became, afterwards, the safeguards
of his manhood, and finally the support and
comfort of his declining years. The business
of his life was prayer, and the exercise of the
most unwearied and ardent charity. Its ruling
principle, love to God, and to man. In the few
hours of relaxation which he allowed himself, he
found his pleasures in the study of ecclesiastical
architecture, of the lives of saints and martyrs,
above all, of everything that was in any way con-
nected with the foundation, and the history of the
several parts of that minster which he loved with all
that holy love which men are wont to feel for the
country of their birth and for the home of their

INTRODUCTION. V

youth, and, moreover, with a feeling akin to that
which made Jacob exclaim, as he rose from his
resting-place at Bethel, " This is the house of God,
and the gate of heaven ! "

As I am not writing Mr. Lacy's history, it is
not necessary to enter into further details as to the
events of his life, if events they can be called, that
chiefly consisted in the casual opportunities vouch-
safed to him, of soothing some extraordinary
sorrow ; of recalling to the fold of Christ some
wandering sinner, and of performing works of
mercy and self-denial such as are seldom practised,
or heard of in this luxurious and self-indulgent
age. I will, therefore, revert to that hour of even-
ing prayer which this chapter began by describing,
as it will introduce us at once to the subject of
this story.

Mr. Lacy had seated himself in his stall, and his
eyes were glancing over the small congregation that
had gathered together, on a week-day, for divine

b3

10 INTRODUCTION.

worship, when his attention was attracted by
a woman who was sitting on one of the benches
generally occupied by the poorest inhabitants of
the town. She was very simply dressed, in deep
mourning ; but there was something about her atti-
tude and countenance which plainly indicated that
she belonged to the higher classes of society. It
was impossible to guess at her age ; for although
the slightness of her figure and the delicate beauty
of her features gave her the appearance of youth,
her face bore a wild and haggard expression that
we seldom see in those who have not far advanced
on their pilgrimage through life. Her arm was
thrown against one of the adjoining pillars, and just
before the beginning of the service she laid her
head upon it, and neither stirred or looked up
during the time the prayers lasted. She neither
knelt when others knelt, nor stood when they stood.
Once only, when the organ sounded the first notes
of one of the most beautiful anthems of our church.

INTRODUCTION. 11

she rose from her seat almost mechanically, and an
instant after resumed her former attitude. At the
conclusion of the service, when the worshippers had
all left the cathedral, Mr. Lacy passed near the
place where the stranger still remained in a state of
apparent abstraction ; the sound of his approaching
footsteps startled her ; she hastily withdrew, and
walked rapidly out of the church, and down one of
the small streets that faced the entrance door. Two
or three times during the succeeding fortnight,
Mr. Lacy noticed the same person occupying the
same place, and conducting herself in the same
manner. His interest was powerfully excited, but
he neither ventured to address her, nor could he
succeed in ascertaining from the pew-opener, or
from one or two other persons whom he questioned
on the subject, anything respecting her. Chance,
however, as it often happens in such cases, threw
the information he sought in his way.

He was sitting one evening in his room, busily

12 INTRODUCTION.

engaged in preparing his sermon for the Feast of
All Saints, which occurred on the ensuing day, and
on which it was his turn to preach, when he was
disturbed by a knock at the door, and the subse-
quent entrance of an elderly woman, whom he had
known for many years, and who had been in the
habit of consulting him whenever any little scruple
of conscience disturbed her in the exercise of her
line of business, which was no other than that of
lodging-letting. Mr. Lacy was so well acquainted
with the character of his old friend, and with the
nature of the difficulties usually submitted to him,
that, after begging her to sit down, and draw her
chair close to the fire, (for the last day of October
was ushering in with suitable severity the first of
November,) he immediately began —

" Well, my good Mrs. Denley, any more drunken
lodgers, whom you keep on, for fear that no one
but yourself would help them up to their rooms,
and see that they did not spend the night in a less

INTRODUCTION. 13

comfortable place than their beds ? or are you still
doubting as to the propriety of giving notice to
quit to the gentleman who spoils your furniture,
and never pays his rent, thereby keeping you from
sending Johnny to school, as you had intended?"

" No, no, sir ; it has nothing to do with drunken
lodgers, or with poor dear Johnny's going to school,
or with not getting the rent paid, and all that,
what 's disturbing me now ; but only just the
contrary."

As it was difficult to understand, without farther
explanation, how the contrary of these three things
could be disturbing Mrs. Denley's mind, Mr.
Lacy looked at her inquiringly, and she continued:

" You see, sir, it is not exactly, as one might
say, any business of mine ; and I mind well what
is said in St. Paul's Epistle to Timothy, that
women should not be tattlers and busy bodies ; but
for all that, I hope it is no sin to wish a young
creature that 's under one's roof, and that 's dying

14 INTRODUCTION.

by inches — of something — the Lord only knows
what — for Dr. Reid doesn't. He saw her walking
in, sir, the other day, and I made so bold as to ask
her if she wouldn'^t speak to him, but she wouldn't ;
and he says as how he can*'t guess what 's the
matter with her; and if he can''t, why, who should?
Well, as I was saying, sir, I hope it isn't a sin to
wish the poor young thing not to die, without
medicine for her body, or means of grace for her
soul."

*' Assuredly, you are quite right in forming such
a wish, and in endeavouring to prevent so terrible
an occurrence. But who is the person you are
alluding to ? "

" She is my lodger, sir, and has been for the last
six weeks.*'

" What is her name ? " inquired Mr. Lacy.

" Mrs. Rodney, sir."

" Has she no friends that you know of ? How
came she to hear of your lodgings ? "

INTRODUCTION. 15

" Why, she stopped (on a Monday, I think it
was) at the ' Rose,' and she asked Mr. Chapman if
he could tell her of a quiet kind of respectable
lodging in the town ; now, Mr. Chapman is always
willing to do one a good turn. It was him, sir,
that sent Johnny back to Ashby, on Tuesday last,
in a return post-chaise, after he had sprained his
ancle. A very good man, and a neighbourly, is
Mr. Chapman ; and, as I was saying, he likes to
do one a good turn ; so that when the lady asked
for decent respectable lodgings, he said he knew of
the very thing as would suit her ; and sure enough,
the next morning she came to see the rooms, and
took them at once ; and nothing would serve her
but to pay down at once the rent for six months ;
and when I made so free as to say she had better
not, for fear of changing her mind about them, she
grew quite savage like ; for ail that she is a gentle
looking creature, and said as violent as could be,
* It must be so — take the money."* Well, thought

16 INTRODUCTION.

I to myself, may be she fancies I don't like her for
a lodger ; so I just said, in an easy kind of manner,
' Well, ma'am, and I hope, when the six months
are past, that you may take them on for another
half year.' But ' No,' says she ; ' six months
will do,* which, to be sure, was a natural thing
enough for her to say; but I take it, that if
you had been there, sir, and had heard her
say it, you would not have thought it quite natural
either."

" Is this lady whom you are speaking of in deep
mourning? and does she occasionally attend the
cathedral service ? "

" She does, sir ; and is always dressed in black.
She sits near the pillar where Mrs. Jones used to
sit, poor soul, when she was alive.""

" I have remarked her ; she does indeed look
both ill and unhappy. Do you know anything of
her history ? "

" Not a word, sir ; she wears a wedding ring,

INTRODUCTION. ]7

but her clothes are marked with an E. and an M.,
for all that she calls herself Mrs. Rodney."

"Does she ever enter into conversation with you ?"
" Sometimes, a little. Last week, Joe Irving, the
under-gardener at Clomley lodge, brought me, as
a present, a large nosegay of dahlias and china-
asters. I carried them up-stairs, and while Mrs.
Rodney was in church, I put them into jars, on
the table, and on the chimney-piece, and very
bright and pretty they looked. So when she came
in, she noticed them and thanked me, and spoke
quite cheerful. As she was standing a-talking to
me about them, an insect ran out from between
the leaves, and I tried to kill it, but she caught my
hand and stopped me ; and her hand, sir ! — why it
was more like one of those bits of hot coal there,
than the little white soft thing it looked like, and
when I looked at her face, there was a bright fever
spot on each cheek, and her lips were as white as
could be.

18 INTRODUCTION.

" ' You are very ill, ma'am/ says I to her ; ' your
hand is burning hot/ She put it to her forehead
and ' it does not feel hot to me/ says she, and
walks away to the window and opens it, for all that
it was almost as cold and raw as to-night. But,
now, and that 's what I 'm come about, sir, she has
taken to her bed, and is in a very bad way indeed,
I take it."

" What ! and has not she seen the doctor ? "
" No, indeed, Mr. Lacy ; she won't as much as
let him come into the house. When she found
herself so ill, that she could not do for herself, she
sent me to get one of the hospital nurses ; and as
Mary Evans was to be had, the girl that you was
so good to last year when she broke her arm, I
got her to come, and she has been with her these
two days.*"

" Has she never spoken of seeing a clergyman ?"

"Why, to say the truth, sir, I made so bold

as to ask her on it ; it was yesterday when Mary

INTRODUCTION. 19

Evans and I had been a begging of her to let us
fetch the doctor. ' No, no/ says she, * he can do me
no good ;' and she fell to crying, which I had not
seen her do before. ' Well, ma'am,' says I, 'if he
can do you no good, I know some one that would.'
' And who is that ? ' says she, sitting up in her bed,
and looking hard at me. * Mr. Lacy, ma'*am,'' I
said, ' the clergyman that read prayers last Sunday
afternoon.' She laid down again, disappointed like,
and I went on to say how you was quite a saint
and a martyr, and a luminary of the church, as
Johnny's schoolmaster says ..."

" Hush, hush, my good Mrs. Denley ; take care
how you apply, or rather misapply, such names as
those. But did Mrs. Rodney decline seeing me,
or any other clergyman ? "

'* She did, sir, and begged me not to mention it
again."

" This is, indeed, a sad case : a woman young,
friendless — dying, perhaps, and probably labouring

20 INTRODUCTION.

under some mental affliction, and yet refusing
to have recourse to the consolations of religion,
and the ministry of the church," said Mr. Lacy,
speaking rather to himself than to Mrs. Denley.
" Have you," added he, turning to her, '' any reason
to suppose that this poor woman, notwithstanding
her occasional attendance on the cathedral service,
is a dissenter ? "

" No, sir, I think not ; she has a small prayer-
book, which I sometimes see lying on her table."

"Well, my dear Mrs. Denley," said Mr. Lacy,
after a few moments' reflection ; " we must both
pray that God, of his infinite mercy, may dispose
the heart of this young creature to turn to Him,
and to the means of grace, which He has Himself
appointed. To-morrow, when we kneel in the
house of God, rejoicing with joy unspeakable over
the glory of the church triumphant, and meditating
on the blessedness of that holy multitude

* Who climbed the steep ascent to Heaven
Through peril, toil, and pain,*

INTRODUCTION. 21

each in our place, we will bear in mind this suffer-
ing lamb of the fold, and pray earnestly that to her,
as well as to us,

* Grace may be given, to follow in their train.'

" I will, sir ; I will,*" replied the good old
woman, with tears in her eyes. " But won't you
try and see her ?*"

''I cannot force myself into her presence," an-
swered Mr. Lacy ; "but every day I will call at your
house to inquire after her health, hoping and trust-
ing that the hour will come when she will cease to
shut her doors against one commissioned by our
Lord, to bear words of peace to the wretched, and
of pardon to the guilty. Whatever you can do to
hasten that moment, I know you will do, my good
friend, and so farewell to you.''

" Good night to you, and thank you kindly, Mr.
Lacy ; it must be a heavy heart indeed, that goes
away from you no lighter than when it came to
you:" and so saying, Mrs. Denley put on her

INTRODUCTION.

cloak, took up her lanthorn, and trudged home,
through the dark streets of the old town.

The next morning Mr. Lacy's thoughts were
divided between the joyful contemplations which
the holy festival it was ushering in was calculated
to inspire, and the painful solicitude which the con-
versation of the preceding evening had left on his
mind. In church, however, the latter feeling sub-
sided, and gave away to that earnest calmness, and
that intense devotion, which absorb for the time
the cares and troubles of the soul, " Uke motes in
light divine." When from the pulpit this aged
minister dwelt in glowing words on the com-
munion between the saints above and the saints
below ; on the link that unites the church militant
here on earth, with the church triumphant in hea-
ven ; above all, when in terms of the deepest rever-
ence and of the intensest love, he spoke of our Lord
Jesus Christ, and prayed that he himself, and all
those who joined with him in prayer that day.

INTRODUCTION. 23

might each, in God's own time, enter into the ful-
ness of his presence, and worship in his courts
evermore, yea in time and in eternity, tfiere was
something so ardent in his aspirations, and yet so
chastened in his devotion, that the assembled mul-
titude heard him with a reverence, mingled with
awe ; they felt as if Elijah's car of fire might bear
him away from their sight ; from the shelter of
the sanctuary on earth to the glories of the new
Jerusalem on high.

After the conclusion of the sermon, Mr. Lacy
remained absorbed in earnest prayer, till the last
of the worshippers had withdrawn, and the parting
strain from the organ had died away on the walls
of the cathedral. As he was slowly descending the
aisle, he paused before the place where Mrs. Rodney
had been seated some days before; as he stood
musing on the account which he had heard of her
from Mrs. Denley, he observed a few lines written
in pencil on the column against which she had been

24 INTRODUCTION.

in the habit of leaning. They were so faintly
marked, and had probably been so much effaced
since, that he found great difficulty in making
them out. At last he succeeded in doing so, and
they were as follows : —

" My aching heart is breaking,
My burning brain is reeling,
My very soul is riven,
I feel myself forsaken.
And phantom forms of horror,
And shapeless dreams of terror,
And mocking tones of laughter,
About me seem to gather ;
And death, and hell, and darkness
Are driving me to madness."

It would be difficult to describe the revulsion of
feeling which Mr. Lacy experienced on reading
the expression of a despair that contrasted so
strikingly with the joy and the peace which had
been filling his own heart. There was also some-
thing which indicated a kind of reckless helpless-
ness in the fact of leaving that confession of mental
agony to be scanned, perhaps, by indifferent eyes.
It must have been done in one of those moments

INTRODUCTION. 25

when the tortured heart would break if it did not
in some mode or other give vent to its anguish.
Mr. Lacy, after some minutes'" consideration, took
out of his pocket a pencil and a bit of paper, and
transcribed upon it the lines he had found, and then
carefully effaced them from the pillar on which they
had been written. As he slowly walked out of the
cathedral, and towards Mrs. Denley's house, he
revolved in his mind the means by which he would
be most likely to gain admission to Mrs. Rodney's
presence. It struck him that if she could be made
aware that he had read the words that were now in
his possession, she would feel less reluctance to enter
into communication with him ; but it was difficult
to convey this fact to her without wounding her
feelings. When he reached the house and knocked,
he was still undecided as to the course he should
pursue. Mary Evans, the girl who was in attend-
ance upon Mrs. Rodney, came to the door; and
when Mr. Lacy inquired after Mrs. Rodney's

VOL. I. c

26

INTRODUCTION.

health, answered : " Why, sir, she says as how she
is wonderful better to-day, and so strong that she 's
been a getting up and walking about her room ;
but, I take it, her strength is fever strength, for
her cheeks are red as crimson, and she seems as if
she could not sit still."

" She should not be allowed to exert herself in
that way," observed Mr. Lacy ; — " she may do
herself much harm.'*

" Indeed, and that's quite true, sir ; but there's
no persuading her when she 's in one of her ways.
She speaks as gentle as a lamb in common, and
never scolds or complains ; but when she gets into
a tantrum about something as one wants her to
do or not to do, she grows to look quite wild like.
It's just now that Mrs. Denley saw you a-coming
down the street ; and says she to Mrs. Rodney
(Mrs. Denley had stepped up to see how the fire
was burning, sir,) — well, says she to Mrs. Rodney,
'There's Mr. Lacy a-coming down this way, ma'am;

INTRODUCTION. 27

I think he '11 be after asking to see you :' and Mrs.
Rodney on that turns round and says so sudden,
* If I am to be persecuted in this manner, I shall
leave the house at once,' that Mrs. Denley let
fall the coal-scuttle, and she says as how it gave
her quite a revulsion. But won't you walk in,
sir?"

" No ; I came only to inquire after Mrs.
Rodney's health ; and as, from what you have just
told me, she certainly would not be inclined to see
me, I shall send up no message on the subject."'*
And so saying, Mr. Lacy took his departure.

On the Sunday following, a few minutes after
the beginning of evening service, he saw, gliding
to her usual place, with a noiseless step, the poor
woman who during the past week had so much
occupied his thoughts. Her shrunken form and
flushed cheeks revealed the fatal progress of a
disease which betrays its victims all the more
surely, by imparting to them, at certain stages of
c 2

INTRODUCTION.

its course, a false strength, that lures them to
exertions only serving to accelerate its fearful ter-
mination. As Mr. Lacy mounted the pulpit, he
breathed an ardent prayer that something in the
words he was going to utter might carry a token of
peace to this poor creature's breast, a ray of hght
to her mind. In the course of his sermon he in^
troduced the following sentences : —

" When the heart of man is breaking, and his
brain is reeling, who should he turn to, but to Him
who said, ' Come unto me, all ye that labour and
are heavy laden, and I will give you rest ? ' When
the soul of man is shaken, and he feels himself
forsaken, who should he turn to, but to Him who
once cried out upon the cross, ' My God, my
God, why hast thou forsaken me?* When phantom
forms of horror, and shapeless dreams of terror,
assail the soul of man, who should he turn to, but to
Him who was once in such great agony, that his.
sweat fell like drops of blood upon the earth?

INTRODUCTION. 29

When mocking tones of laughter are wildly ring-
ing round him, who should he turn to, but to Him
who was jeered at, and reviled on the cross, because
others he saved, but himself he could not save.
When death, and hell, and darkness, are driving
man to madness, who should he turn to, but to
Him who took from the grave its victory, from
death its sting, and from hell its prey ? — to Him
who died and rose again the third day, in order
that death, and hell, and darkness, should never
more drive men to madness."

On the evening of this day, Mr. Lacy received
the following note. It seemed written at once
with difficulty and with rapidity, and in parts was
somewhat illegible.

** If you still wish to see me, Mr. Lacy, — if you
are not wearied with vainly seeking admittance to
one who is not worthy to wipe the dust from your
feet, come to me now. You spoke to me to-day,

30 INTRODUCTION.

though you never turned your eyes towards me.
I looked into your face, and it seemed to me as if
it had been the face of an angel ; and when your
lips uttered the words that my hand had written, I
hung upon your lips. It was as a voice from hea-
ven ; my heart melted within me, and I wept ; not
as I have often wept, for my eyes are vrorn out with
crying ; not tears that scorch the eyelids as they
flow, but tears that seemed to loosen the iron band
that binds my temples, and to melt the dull hard
stone in my breast. I came home, and knelt by
my bedside — my Prayer-book was in my hand ; I
opened it, and these words met my eyes, ' The
order for the Visitation of the Sick.' I closed the
book, and read no more. Mr. Lacy, I am sick in
body, and sick at heart. Will you come and visit
me ? You will not question me ; you will not ask
me why my sorrow is like no other sorrow ; but
you will pray for me, and by me. Perhaps you
may say some words like this morning's — not words

INTRODUCTION. 31

of comfort, words of hope, but words that will
make me weep, as I wept then. Ellen."

The next morning at twelve o'clock, Mr. Lacy
was at the door of Mrs. Denley's house. His
Prayer-book was in his hand ; and as he entered, he
slowly pronounced the appointed blessing, " Peace
be to this house, and to all that dwell in it.''
Mrs. Denley led the way up stairs, and opened the
door of the room, where Ellen was lying on a sofa,
supported by cushions. Her face was paler than
the day before, but a sudden flush overspread it as
Mr. Lacy entered.

" You are welcome," she said, extending to him
at the same time her thin transparent hand. " It
is kind of you to come, and kind of you (she added,
turning to Mrs. Denley, and to Mary Evans, who
were standing by,) to join in these prayers. There
are responses to be made, I believe."

Mr. Lacy perceived that she was anxious that he

32 INTRODUCTION.

should begin the service at once, without previously
entering into conversation with her; and feeling
deeply himself that no words of his could bring
such powerful consolation to the soul, if burdened
with sorrow, or so forcibly awaken the sense of sin,
if guilt and remorse were troubling it, as those
which the Church supplied him with, he knelt at
once by Ellen's couch, and with more emotion than
he had perhaps ever felt before in the exercise of
this portion of his sacred ministry, he read the
solemn prayer for mercy, with which this service
opens.

After the Lord's Prayer, in which Ellen had
feebly joined, Mr. Lacy and the two women, who
knelt opposite to him, repeated alternately the
impressive sentences of the Litany, which imme-
diately follows it.

There was something in these supplications that
seemed to accord, in some extraordinary manner,
with the state of Ellen's mind. When the minister

INTRODUCTION. 33

prayed " that her enemy should have no advantage
of her," she started convulsively, and gazed wildly
about her, as the women responded, "Nor the
wicked approach to hurt her." When the words
" From the face of her enemy " were uttered, she
hid her face in her hands, and a slight shudder
shook her frame. After a pause, Mr. Lacy read
the prayers that follow, and then rising from his
knees, turned towards Ellen, and addressed to her
the beautiful and touching exhortation, that forms
part of the service ; but when towards the end of
it — " Forasmuch as after this life there is an
account to be given unto the Righteous Judge, by
whom all must be judged, without respect of
persons " — he required her to examine herself and
her estate, both towards God and towards man, so
that accusing and condemning herself for her own
faults, she might find mercy at our Heavenly
Father's hand for Christ's sake. Then Ellen
trembled. When he rehearsed to her the Apostles'
c3

34 INTRODUCTION,

Creed, and asked her if all these articles of the
Christian faith she steadfastly believed, she
bowed her assent. And now they had arrived at
that solemn period in the service when the minister
was bound by his sacred office to examine whether
she truly repented her of her sins, and was in charity
with all the world; — when he was to exhort her
to forgive from the bottom of her heart the persons
that had offended her ; and if she had offended any
other, to ask of them forgiveness ; and where she
had done injury or wrong to any man, to make
amends to the uttermost of her power. He did so
in words of awful warning, and at the same time of
soothing tenderness ; but no answer came from he;*
lips — she turned her face towards the wall; and, to
use the expressive words of Holy Scripture, she
lifted up her voice and wept.

Mr. Lacy directed Mrs. Denley and Mary
Evans to leave him alone with Ellen, but to remain
within call in case their presence was required.

INTRODUCTION. 35

When the door was closed he addressed her in the
following words; — "Your conscience is troubled
with some weighty matter — the heaviness of guilt is
on your soul, ay, and that of deep anguish too,"
he added, as the heart-rending expression of her
countenance, which she suddenly turned towards
him, revealed the acuteness of her sufferings.
" Perhaps, too, you may have been more sinned
against than sinning. Perhaps the hand of man
has been against you, and you have wandered,
young as you are, through the wilderness of the
world, and found no rest for the sole of your foot.
You have longed, perhaps, like the dove, to flee
away and be at rest."

In a hoarse voice Ellen murmured, " There is no
peace for the wicked ! "

" But there is pardon for the penitent, and peace
for the pardoned," rejoined Mr. Lacy.

'' Pardoned! pardoned!" exclaimed Ellen, press-
ing her hand to her forehead, *^ I shall never feel

36 INTRODUCTION.

myself pardoned ! Mr. Lacy, I have sometimes
opened the Bible, and I have read in it words
of pity, words of mercy, words of promise, and
for a moment they seemed to bring comfort to
my soul; but the dark spirit within me would
still whisper, They are not written for thee, — not
for thee. O God! O God! when shall I ever
feel forgiven ?"

" When, laying aside all human pride, all human
fears," solemnly replied Mr. Lacy, " in meek dis-
trust of your own judgment, in deep humility of
spirit, you make, as the Church requires, a special
confession of your sins to one, who, if you truly
repent and believe, can absolve you from them, by
the authority committed to him by our Lord Jesus
Christ."

Ellen listened to these words in deep silence, and
Mr. Lacy did not interrupt her meditation. After
a long pause, during which she seemed absorbed in
the most intense thought, she once more extended

INTRODUCTION. 37

her hand to him, and said, " I think, I hope, that
a change has come over me. Thoughts are crowd-
ing upon my mind, that never came there before,
and things begin to appear to me in a new light.
Perhaps it is from the approach of death, which
since yesterday has seemed to draw very near to
me; and to one who has suffered as I have
suffered, death, if it could be robbed of its terror,
ought not to be very dreadful. I have often said,
' Would that I could lay myself down and die ; '
but now, now that I see death coming in its
stern reality, I would fain shrink from it ; and yet
nothing but the cold hand of death will ever still
the passionate th robbings of my heart, and teach it
to love less wildly, or to hate less fiercely. Forgive
me, forgive me, Mr. Lacy ! Oh, do not turn away
from me ! God has sent you to me as an angel of
mercy, not as the minister of his wrath. You bade
me confess my sins. See, I confess them ! I will
kneel to you 1" and Ellen, in spite of Mr. Lacy's

38 INTRODUCTION.

ejBTorts to prevent her, flung herself on the ground
at his feet, and clung to them in an agony of tears.
He instantly raised her, and, replacing her on the
sofa, with a voice of authority desired her to be
calm, and to compose herself. She obeyed, and in
a few minutes, and with an altered manner, she
again addressed him. " I cannot confess my sins
without revealing the history of my life ; my guilt
and my sorrows are so closely linked together, that
they cannot be separated : but I wish to keep no
secret from you — you have brought a vision of
peace and of hope before me ; and perhaps, when
you know how miserable I have been, though how
guilty, you may not think me utterly unworthy
of it."

*' None are unworthy of pardon in the eyes of
our adorable Saviour," said Mr. Lacy, " who
heartily repent and sue for it ; but remember that
we must forgive as we hope to be forgiven."

" Since I have seen you and heard you," said

INTRODUCTION. 39

Ellen, " I can pray, I dare pray, and I will pray
that God may change my heart, and teach me to
forgive as I hope to be forgiven : and now as I
am not strong enough to speak much at a time, and
that I wish to open my heart to you without reserve,
I will put into your hands a history of my life,
which, during days of solitude and nights of
weary watchings, I have written — and which will
disclose to you all the secrets of my soul ; it is the
most complete confession I can make. When you
have read it, Mr. Lacy, you will return to
me. By that time, perhaps, the grace of God
will have quelled the storms within me, and I
may then hear from your lips the blessed words of
absolution.

The following history was contained in the
manuscript which Mr. Lacy carried home with
him.

ELLEN MIDDLETON

CHAPTER I.

What thousand voices pass through all the rooms,
What cries and hurries !

*****

My cousin's death sits heavy on my conscience ; hark !
*****

In every room confusion, they're all mad,
Most certain all stark mad within the house."

Beaumont and Fletcher.

I WAS born and educated in the house of my
uncle, Mr. Middleton, one of the wealthiest squires

in D shire. He had received my mother with

kindness and affection, on her return from India,
where she had lost her husband and her eldest
child. She was his youngest and favourite sister,
and when after having given birth to a daughter

42 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

she rapidly declined in health, and soon after ex-
pired, bequeathing that helpless infant to his pro-
tection ; he silently resolved to treat it as his own,
and, like most resolutions formed in silence, it was
religiously adhered to. At the time of ray birth,
my uncle was about forty years old ; a country
gentleman in the highest and most respectable
sense of the word.

Devoted to the improvement of his tenants on
the one hand, and to that of his estates on the other ;
zealous as a magistrate, active as a farmer, chari-
table towards the poor, and hospitable towards the
rich, he was deservedly popular with his neigh-
bours, and much looked up to in his county. He
had been attached in his youth to the daughter of
a clergyman of eminent abilities and high character,
who resided in the neighbourhood of Elmsley. For
six years his father had opposed his intended mar-
riage with Miss Selby, and when at the end of that
time he extorted from him a reluctant consent, it
was too late to press his suit; she was dying of a

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 43

hopeless decline, and to cheer her few remaining
days of life by every token of the most devoted
affection, and after her death to mourn deeply and
silently over the wreck of his early hopes, was the
conclusion of an attachment to which Mr. Mid-
dleton had looked, as to the source and means of
all his future happiness. At the age of thirty-five
he became possessed, by his father''s death, of the
manor-house at Elmsley, and of the large property
adjoining to it. In the happiness which his wealth
gave him the means of diffusing around him, in the
friendly attachment with which he was regarded
by those among whom he now fixed his residence,
he found subjects of interest, and sources of grati-
fication, which gradually obliterated the traces of
his early affliction.

From what 1 have already said, it will be plainly
perceived that my uncle was a man that one could
not fail to esteem ; though whether it was as easy
to love him, may be questioned. To the strictest

44 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

principles of religious morality, he added a heart
full of kind feeling for others, and an invariable
serenity of temper, but an unconquerable reserve,
a want of confidence in others, and an absence of
sympathy in their tastes and pursuits, interfered
with the expression, if not with the existence, of
those affections, which his merits and his kindness
would otherwise have been so well calculated
to inspire. I never remember his taking the
slightest interest in any of my childish pleasures, or
his uttering any but the most formal phrase of
commendation when my performances were sub-
mitted to his inspection. Young as I was, I felt
this want of sympathy, in the only person who was
really interested in my welfare, and would have
gladly agreed to be less calmly reproved when 1 was
wrong, and more warmly praised when 1 was right.
Till the age of six years old, I am not conscious
of having loved any human being. From acci-
dental circumstances my nurses had been so often

ELLEN MIDDLETON, 45

changed, that I had not had the opportunity of
attaching myself to any of them ; and as to my
uncle, I believe he might have left Elmsley for days,
weeks, or months, without causing me the slightest
sensation of regret or solitude. He did not often
absent himself from home, but on one occasion he
did so for three months, and a few days before his
return, my nurse informed me that he was married,
and that I should soon see my new aunt. The
announcement caused me neither pleasure nor
pain ; and curiosity was the only feeling with which
I anticipated the arrival so eagerly looked for-
ward to by the whole of my uncle's establishment.
When Mrs. Middleton arrived I was immediately
summoned into the drawing-room. The tenderness
of her manner, the expressions of fondness with
which she greeted me ; the emotion which her
countenance betrayed, were all so totally different
from anything that I had ever witnessed, that I
felt as if a being from another world had come

46

ELLEN MIDDLETON.

among us. There was something heavenly in the
expression of her countenance, there was some-
thing original in every word she uttered; in her
gaiety there was a bubbling joyousness, an intense
enjoyment in enjoyment, that was irresistibly at-
tractive, and in sorrow or in emotion, her tears fell
unconsciously from her eyes, and would trickle
down her cheeks without any of the disfiguring
grimaces which usually attend the act of weeping.
I loved her from the first instant I saw her, and
my childish heart clung to her with all the strength
of feeling that had lain dormant in it during the
first years of my existence. To use a familiar ex-
pression, we took to each other instantaneously ; I
do not know that she was fond of children, as it is
called ; she did not stop to caress those we met in
our walks, and of romping and noise she grew very
soon weary ; but there was so much originality in
her understanding, and so much simplicity in her
character ; she was so in earnest about every em-

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 47

ployment and amusement which she admitted me
to share, that, superior as she was, I never felt that
she was making an effort to bring herself down to
my level, and consequently in her society never
experienced the weariness which children are apt to
feel, from those flat and unprofitable attempts to
amuse them, which are so often made and so often
fail. She required sympathy ; it was as necessary
to her as the air of heaven, and what she so much
needed herself, she amply yielded to others. I
never met in my life with any one who entered into
the feelings of those about her as she did.

Altogether, she was a person more calculated to
diffuse happiness than to enjoy it ; perhaps to in-
spire more enthusiastic feelings of affection, than she
herself often experienced. Be that as it may, she
opened a new era in the history of my child-
hood; and, during the six or seven years that
followed the epoch of my uncle's marriage, my life
was as happy as that of a human creature can be.

48 ELLEN MIDDLETON,

About a year after that event, Mrs. Middleton was
confined of a girl, and this circumstance, far from
diminishing my happiness, served but to increase it.
My aunt was not a person capable of being engrossed
by an infant, and though greatly pleased at the
birth of her little girl, her affection for me suffered
no diminution. The cares which little Julia re-
quired— the task of entertaining her, which often
fell to my share — formed a delightful amusement ;
and I do not remember, till the time when she was
eight and I fifteen, having ever felt, or, indeed,
having had cause to feel, one jealous pang on
her account.

Mrs. Middleton took great pains with my educa-
tion,— at least with those parts of it which were con-
genial to her taste and mine ; for, to follow with
ardour whatever was the impulse and fancy of the
moment, was at once the charm and the danger of
my -aunt's character. She could not resist the
temptation of initiating me, perhaps too early, into

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 49

those studies which captivate the imagination and
excite the feelings. German and Italian we studied
together. The most romantic parts of history —
all that was most interesting and bewitching in poe-
try, furnished materials for those hours which we
devoted to reading. Reading! that most power-
ful instrument in the education of the heart ! —
silently searching into its secrets, rousing its dor-
mant passions, and growing sometimes itself into a
passion 1 But there was scarcely less excitement
in conversing with my aunt, than in reading with
her. She never took a common-place view of any
subject, or shrunk from expressing her real opinion
upon it, whatever it might be. With regard to
her own feelings, she took nothing for granted ; she
never persuaded herself (as so many people do)
that, because it would be right or desirable to feel
and to act in a particular manner, that she did so
feel and act, while her conscience bore witness to
the contrary. She was a great searcher into

VOL. I. D

so ELLEN MIDDLETON.

motives, and fearfully true in her judgment of
people and of things : had not her character been
one of the noblest, and her mind one of the purest
that ever woman was gifted with, there would have
been something startling in the boldness of her
opinions, and in the candour of her admissions.
Had she been within reach of any associates whose
feelings and understandings had been in any way
congenial to her own, she would not, in all pro-
bability, have treated me, not merely as a pupil
and companion, but as an intimate friend. She
would not have poured out her thoughts to me
with the most unbounded confidence, or taught me
to feel that I was essential to her happiness ; but,
as it was, (for at Elmsley she had neighbours and
acquaintances, but no friends,) she did all this, and
the intense gratification which I derived from my
constant intercourse with one whom I loved with
the tenderest affection, kept me in a state of highly
wrought excitement, which, while it subdued, and

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 51

even effaced, the trivial faults of that early age,
exercised on my character an influence far from
beneficial to my future happiness. One of the
subjects on which Mrs. Middleton would often
speak to me with eagerness and eloquence, was the
self-deception with which most people persuade
themselves that their affections flow in their most
natural channels, without proving their own feel-
ings by the stern test of reality. Fully aware of
her partiality to me ; aware, too, how unattractive
a child my cousin Julia was, and how unsuited to
my aunt's nature and taste must be the cold, slug-
gish, selfish disposition which her daughter evinced,
and which she seemed painfully alive to, I never
for an instant doubted that her affection for me
exceeded in kind, as well as in degree, that which
she felt for her own child. Often would she lament
to me that Julia gave no promise of future excel-
lence of mind or character; that in her she never
expected to find the innate sympathy, the respon-
d2

LIBRARY

UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS

52 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

give tenderness, that characterised our intimacy,
and which shed such a charm over every detail of
life. The selfishness inherent in the human heart,
superadded to the exclusive nature of a passionate
attachment, made me listen to these forebodings
with a secret satisfaction, laying, meanwhile, the
flattering unction to my soul, that nothing but the
purest spirit of devoted tenderness led me to rejoice
that I could fill a place in my aunt's affections,
which would prevent her suffering from the disap-
pointment which my cousin's repulsive and apa-
thetic disposition would otherwise have caused to a
heart as warm, and a spirit as ardent, as hers.

A few years (the happiest of my life) carried me
.rapidly to the verge of womanhood. I attained my
fifteenth year, and began to form acquaintances, and
to mix in the society which occasionally met at
Elmsley. It chiefly consisted of relations of my
uncle and of Mrs. Middleton, who came at
certain intervals, and spent a few weeks at the old

ELLEN MIDDLETON* 53'

Priory, which then became the scene of more active
amusements than were habitual in our usually re-
tired mode of life. Edward Middleton, a nephew
of my uncle, and Henry Lovell, a younger brother
of my aunt, who were college friends and constant
associates, were among our most frequent visitors.
The latter, who had lost his mother several years
before the time I am speaking of, and whose father
held a situation in one of the government offices,
which obliged him to remain in London almost all
the year round, had been in the habit of spending
first his holidays from Eton, and subsequently the
Oxford vacations, with his sister at Elmsley. There
he formed an acquaintance with Edward Middle-
ton, which soon grew into a close intimacy ; and
both at college and at Elmsley they were insepa-
rable. As it so often happens in such cases, there
was hardly any perceptible bond of sympathy be-
tween them ; they were so strikingly dissimilar in
character and in tastes, that one could scarcely

54 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

understand the pleasure they took in each other's
society. It is necessary to the subsequent unfolding
of my story that I should give some account of
them, and of the feelings with which 1 regarded, at
that time, these two men. They were both several
years older than myself, but the disparity was not
enough to prevent my considering them as friends
and companions. They had both left Oxford some
two or three years before the time I am speaking
of. Henry Lovell was at once like and unlike his
sister, Mrs. Middleton ; he was exceedingly attrac-
tive ; there was no den}?ing the charm that existed
in the rapid intelligence, the quick conception, and
the ready humour that beamed in his eyes and
countenance, and sparkled in his brilliant repartee.
His powers of captivation were as great as hers,
but he knew that power, and ever used it for an
end ; while in her it was spontaneous as the bub-
bling of a stream, as the song of thie birds, or as
the joy of childhood. Both had a keen perception

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 55

of ridicule, but in her it never amounted to ill-
nature : she was as severe upon herself as he was
upon others ; while she penetrated into their motives
she judged them kindly, and was as ready to detect
evil in her own heart as he was to suspect it in
theirs. His smile was sarcastic, and his remarks
were often bitter. If he had not been charming,
he would have been odious ; and to have been loved
at all, he must have been passionately loved, for no
feeling short of passion could have withstood the
withering influence of his deep-seated selfishness.
He was well versed in the language of feeling, in
the theory of enthusiasm ; he could speak of " what-
soever things are pure, of whatsoever things are
lovely, of whatsoever things are honest, of what-
soever things are of good report." Where there
was virtue, and where there was praise, there was
he ready to descant with eloquence, to discuss with
ability; there he was at home, at least in con-
versation, for, in the varied range of human

56 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

affections, his intellect conceived what his heart did
not feel.

At the time that I am writing of, when he and
Edward Middleton were the two persons who most
occupied my thoughts, and interested my girlish
imagination, it would have been difficult for me to
describe what I thought of each. For Edward I
felt an involuntary respect, which made me shrink
from expressing, before him, any opinion, or any
sentiment which he was likely to condemn ; he
seemed inclined to judge me with pecuhar severity,
and 1 sometimes felt provoked at the calm stern-
ness of his manner on these occasions, especially on
comparing it with the smiling indifference with
which he would listen to Henry LovelPs satirical
remarks, which I secretly felt to be more deserving
of blame than my own thoughtless observations,
httle as I could withstand myself the extraordinary
fascination which his peculiar tone of mind and
conversation exercised on those about him.

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 57

In the summer of the year 18 — , my cousin
Julia had a long and severe illness. For some
days she lay at the point of death ; and, for the
first time in my life, I saw the expression of anguish
in the face I loved best in the world. Mrs. Mid-
dleton's grief seemed out of proportion with the
degree of affection she had hitherto apparently felt
for her child ; and there was a wildness in her
sorrow which surprised as much as it aifected me.
Long afterwards, it struck me that something of
remorse, at the preference she had so openly
shown for me, and at the coldness with which she
had regarded her daughter, might have added to
the misery she then experienced. But, at the
time, this idea never occurred to me; I thought
I had underrated the strength of my aunt''s feelings,
and only wondered at the intensity of an affection
which had never betrayed itself to that extent
before.

After a few anxious days and nights, my cousin
d3

58 .ELLEN MIDDLETON.

rallied, and by degrees recovered; but did not
regain the state of robust health which she had
previously enjoyed. My aunt's devotion to her
was unceasing : she patiently watched over her,
and attended to every wish and fancy that she
expressed. JuHa's temper, which had never been
good, grew gradually worse ; and it required all a
mother's forbearance to endure her continual way-
wardness and caprice. She had never seemed to
feel much affection for me, but now her indiffer-
ence grew into positive disHke, and nothing I
could say or do ever succeeded in pleasing her.
When left in my charge, she would invariably
insist upon doing something or other which I was
obliged to prohibit or prevent ; and the slightest
opposition to her will would instantly produce
such fits of passion, and of crying, that my aunt at
her return found her frequently in such a state
of hysterical nervousness, or else so pale and ex-
hausted by her own violence, that it was some time

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 59

before she could be restored to anything like
calmness or good-humour. I can truly say that I
made every possible effort to gain the affection of
my little cousin, and I was seldom betrayed into
any irritable expression, or sign of impatience,
much as I was daily and hourly tried in the
manner I have described.

Once or twice I had observed an expression of
displeasure in Mrs. Middleton's countenance, on
overhearing Julia's screams, on some of the occa-
sions alluded to ; and I had sometimes noticed a
sudden cloud pass over her brow, and an abrupt
change in her manner, at the moments when she
was on the point of giving utterance to those
expressions of tenderness, which she was wont to
bestow upon me : but that tenderness was so
evident ; it had been spoken in words ; it had been
proved by deeds ; I had read it in every look of
her eyes ; I had traced it in every tone of her
voice, during so many years, that I should as soon

60 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

have doubted, that the rays of the sun cheered
and warmed me, as that my aunt loved me.

I am now come to an epoch of my life, the
events of which, in their minutest details, are en-
graved on my memory as if a burning iron had
stamped them on my brain. I will not anticipate,
but, with unflinching resolution, record every
particular of the day which changed me from a
happy child into a miserable woman.

Some description of Elmsley Priory is requisite
to the understanding of my story, and I will
endeavour to make it short and clear.

The house itself, formerly a monastery, was,
built on the brow of a steep hill; irregular in
shape, it seemed to have been added to, bit by bit,
according to the increasing size of the convent.
A verandah or balcony of modern date, followed
the sinuosities of the old pile, and, from its peculiar
position, while at one extremity it was on a level
with the grounds, at the other it overhung a pre-

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 6J.

cipitous declivity. This bank shelved down to the
edge of a rapid stream, which chafed and foamed
along the base of the hill against which the house
stood.

At one of the ends of the verandah was a
rough flight of stone steps, much overgrown with
moss, at all times difficult to descend, and, after
rain, positively dangerous, from the slippery nature
of the footing it afforded. It led to the edge of
the river, down the bank already described. A
longer and more circuitous path began at the oppo-
site extremity of the verandah, and ended at the
same point.

The view which this balcony commanded was
one of the most beautiful that can be conceived ;
and in the first freshness of a spring morning, in
the intense heat and repose of a summer noon, in
the glorious beauty of an autumnal sunset, or in the
grandeur of a wintry storm, we were wont to stand
and revel in the varying aspects which this lovely

62 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

landscape presented to our eyes. It was a combin-
ation of wood, stream, and mountain, with a few
cottages scattered here and there, as if a painter's
hand had placed them where they stood. Alto-
gether, they formed a picture which the eye loved
to dwell upon, and which memory strives to recal.

It was on one of those glorious days, when exist-
ence in itself, and apart from all other circumstances,
is felt to be a blessing, that I stood leaning against
one of the pillars of the gallery I have described.

There had been a thunder-storm, and torrents
of rain, in the night, but then the sky was perfectly
cloudless ; that thin transparent haze, which in
England sobers without obscuring the brightness
of a hot sunny day, hung lightly on the distance ;
the lights and shades played in the stream below,
and the busy hum of insects was the only sound
that reached my ears. The rose of May, and the
slender jessamine, twined round the pilasters, near
which I stood. They were giving out all their

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 63

sweetness, and seemed to be rearing their graceful
heads again, after the storm that had so rudely
shaken them.

I had thrown back my bonnet, to enjoy more
completely the warm perfumed breeze ; and was
so absorbed by the beauty of the scene, that it was
only on being called to for the second time, that I
turned round, and saw Julia, standing on the edge
of the stone parapet, with her arm round one of
the columns. The dangerous nature of her posi-
tion immediately struck me ; I told her to come
down, and, on her refusing to do so, took hold of
her, and placed her on the ground. She instantly
set up one of her loudest screams, and, exclaiming
that I had hurt her, she rushed past me, and ran
into the drawing-room, one of the recesses of which
formed an angle in the building. A small paned
latticed window, which opened on the verandah,
was at this moment imperfectly closed, and from
the spot where I stood, I could hear every word

64 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

that was spoken in that recess. I heard Julia
complaining to her mother of my unkindness, in a
voice broken by sobs, and tremulous with passion.
The child's statement of the facts that had led to
my interference, was totally false; for an instant
I felt inclined to follow her, in order to contradict
it, but the bane of my nature, pride^ which always
made me hate an explanation or a justification,
restrained the impulse, and 1 then caught the
sound of Mrs. Middleton's voice; she was speak-
ing in a low earnest manner to her husband.

" This cannot last,"" she was saying ; " it cannot
be suffered to last; these children must be sepa-
rated, and the sooner the better."

" But what can be done ? " was the reply ;
" Ellen has no home but this."

I listened breathlessly for the answer. It seemed
to me, at that moment, as if my life depended
upon it ; my breath seemed to stop, and my whole
frame to quiver.

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 65

" She might go to some good school for a year
or two," was the answer : " it would be painful to
decide on such a step ; but nothing can signify to
us in compaiison with Julia's health." I did not
hear any more, but, snatching up my bonnet, I rushed
along the verandah till I came to its farthest
extremity. I knelt, and leant my head against the
stones of the parapet. Every vein in my brow
seemed swelled to bursting, and I felt as if I had
waked from a happy dream to a state of things
which my understanding could scarcely master.

Was it indeed my aunt ? was it Mrs. Middleton?
who had spoken of sending me away from her —
away from Elmsley ? Was it she that had said I was
nothing to her in comparison with the selfish child
whom, for her sake, I had so cared for, so endured?
It was even so — I was nothing to her ; I felt con-
vinced of it at once ; and it seemed to me in that
moment as if a sudden chill struck to my heart, and
crept through my whole frame. I have often

TO ELLEN MIDDLETON.

wondered whether the sensation of moral suffering
is as nearly allied to physical pain in every one else
as in myself. The expression of an aching heart
has always appeared to me to have a literal as well
as a figurative sense; there is a sort of positive
pain that accompanies certain kinds of mental suf-
ferings, different in its nature from the feeling of
grief, even in its highest degree; and disappoint-
ment in its various forms is perhaps the species of
suffering which generally produces it.

I was, at the moment I have described, expe-
riencing this kind of pain in its acutest shape. I
felt reluctant to move from where I stood ; the sound
of my own quick breathing was oppressive to me.
My eyes were closed, that the light of the sun, in all
its glorious brightness, should not reach me. The
sounds, the smells, that I was enjoying a few minutes
before, were growing intolerable to me. No voice
could then have been welcome to me (for the voice
I loved best, the voice that had ever spoken peace and

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 67

joy to my heart. I had just heard utter words that
had destroyed at one blow the fabric of bliss which
my heart had so long framed for itself) ; no voice,
I say, could have been welcome to me ; but when I
heard the sharp and querulous tones of Julia,
God in mercy forgive me for what I felt. She was
again standing at the head of the stone steps, that I
have described as forming one of the extremities of
the verandah ; and as she placed her foot on one of
the moss-covered slippery steps, she called out,
" I 'm going down — I'll have my own way now."
I seized her hand, and, drawing her back, exclaimed,
" Don't, Julia ! " on which she said, " You had
better not teaze me; you are to be sent away if
you teaze me." I felt as if a viper had stung me ;
the blood rushed to my head, and I struck her; —
she reeled under the blow, her foot slipped, and she
fell headlong down the stone steps. A voice near
me said, '^ She has killed her !" There was a
plunge in the water below ; her white frock rose to

bo ELLEN MIDDLETON.

the surface — sunk — rose again — and sunk to rise
no more. Two men rushed wildly down the bank,
and one of them turned and looked up as he
passed. I heard a piercing scream — a mother's cry
of despair. Nobody said again " She has killed
her." I did not die— I did not go mad, for I had
not an instant's delusion — I never doubted the
reality of what had happened ; but those words —
" She has killed her !" " She has killed her !" — were
written as with a fiery pencil on my brain, and day
and night they rang in my ears. Who had spoken
them ?

The secret of my fate was in those words.

CHAPTER 11,

** Whence is that knocking?
How is 't with me when every noise appals me ;
What hands are here ? Ha! they pluck out mine eyes.
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand ? " Shakspeare.

" In the wind there is a voice
Shall forbid thee to rejoice ;
And to thee shall night deny
All the quiet of her sky ;
And the day shall have a sun
Which shall make thee wish it done." Byron.

I KNOW not how long I remained in the same
place, rooted to the spot, the blood rushing at one
instant with such violence to my head, that it seemed
as if it would burst from my temples; and the next
I felt a cold sweat on my forehead, and a horrible
fear creeping over my heart. I could not move.

70 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

and my tongue clave to the roof of my mouth ; my
eyes felt as if they were starting out of my head,
and I sought to close them and could not. There
was that torrent before them ; it roared, it foamed ;
and the foam looked like a shroud ; and the roaring
of the water sounded like a scream ; and I screamed
too — a dreadful scream — and then all at once I grew
calm ; for there were hurried steps on the gallery,
and terror paralysed me. It was the housekeeper
and the doctor ; as they came, the latter said : —
" Take the other child to her, — perhaps she will cry
when she sees her." And as I was trembling
violently, and did not seem to hear what they said*
to me, though I did hear every word, the man took
me up in his arms, and carried me like a baby into
the drawing-room. Mrs. Middleton was there with
a face paler than a sheet ; when she saw me her
mouth quivered, but she did not speak or cry ; she
waved her hand, and then laid her head again
against the open door, and seemed to listen with

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 71

her heart. I felt as if I could hear it beat where
I sat. Five or six minutes passed, and then
Mr. Middleton rushed into the room. She looked
up into his face and shrieked — the same fearful
shriek I had heard once before. He took her hands,
which she was wringing wildly, and putting his
arm round her, he whispered, " Now, Mary, all is
over; show me that you believe in God." She
struggled for a moment, her chest heaved con-
vulsively, and then she burst into a violent fit of
hysterical crying. He supported her out of the
room, and they went away together. The house-
keeper came up to the sofa where I was, and taking
one of my hands, she said, " And where were you
when the poor thing fell ? "

I started up as if she had shot me ; I rushed
out of the room, across the hall, through the wind-
ing passages, and up the stairs into my own room.
1 locked the door, and falling on my knees witli
my face against the bed-post, I pressed my temples

72 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

with my hands as if to still their throbbing. During
the next two or three hours, each knock at my
door made me jump as if a cannon had gone off at
my ear ; each time I opened it I expected to be
accused of Julia's death, — to be told that I had
killed her ; and once, when it was my uncle"'s step
that I heard approaching, I opened my window,
and was on the point of throwing myself out of it :
strange to say, the only thing that stopped me was
the fear of adding to Mrs. Middleton's anguish.
I suppose it was the excessive terror that I felt of
being denounced, or of betraying myself, that saved
me from a brain fever ; the very intensity of this
anxiety subdued the extravagance of my despair,
and I calmed myself that I might appear calm.
I took some food, because I instinctively felt that I
needed strength and support. It never occurred to
me, it never once crossed my mind, to reveal what
I had done. I felt that if any one accused me, I
must have died on the spot — fled, destroyed myself

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 73

— I know not what; but at the same time there
was a rigid determination in my soul, that as in the
first moments that had followed Julia's death, I
could not, so now I would not, speak. Each hour
that elapsed confirmed this resolution ; for every hour
that passed by in silence, every word that was uttered
by me, or before me, on the subject, made the act
of self-accusation grow into a moral impossibility.

When it became dusk the solitude of my room
grew intolerable to me, and I wandered through
the house seeking for companionship, and yet start-
ing off in a different direction, if the sound of
steps or of voices drew near to me. At last I found
my way unobserved into the drawing-room, and
sat there, or paced up and down for a length of
time, till at last the door opened, and my uncle
came in.

He walked up to me, laid his hand on my
shoulder, and said, in a voice of subdued emotion,
" You are now our only child, Ellen."

VOL. I. E

74 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

I suppose my countenance bore a very wild
expression at that moment, for he looked at me
with surprise, and then added in a still more sooth-
ing manner, " Go to your aunt, my dear Ellen ;
she will not feel herself childless while you are
spared to us."*"*

A choking sensation rose in my throat, and a
cold sweat stood on my forehead, but I got up, and
walked resolutely to my aunt's room.

She was overwhelmed with grief ; her hands were
feverish, and her head burning. I sat down by
her, and silently employed myself in bathing her
temples with cold water. She now and then laid
her aching head on my shoulder, and burst into
an agony of crying, which seemed to relieve her.

She asked me where my uncle was ; and I could
have told her, for I had heard the servants say, as
I was coming up stairs, that he was returning to
the river side, to make one search more after the
body of his child.

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 7^

The moon was shining brightly, and several men
were employed in dragging the deep and rapid
stream ; I pointed that way, and she seemed at
once to understand me, for a deep groan was her
only answer. Once she said, " Pray for me,
Ellen ;" and then for the first time remorse took
its place by the side of terror in my mind. I felt
I could not pray — no exactly-defined idea of guilt
presented itself to my mind, and yet there was a
murmur in my ears, the burden of which was,
^* She has killed her — she has killed her ;" (and as
when standing on a dizzy height, with a firm hold
on some railing or plank of support, something
whispers to one, " If I should let it go !") I felt
afraid that the next moment I should say out loud,
" 1 have killed her."

The idea of prayer made me tremble. Once I

said mechanically, " O God ! forgive me," and then

shuddered. It sounded to myself like a confession

of murder. I dared not address God as I had

E 2

76 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

done the day before. One instant I thought of
myself as of a guilty wretch, unworthy to live,
unworthy to lift up her voice in prayer, or to raise
her eyes to the calm and cloudless sky. At other
times I felt as if God had dealt too hardly with me :
I pitied myself, and my heart waxed rebellious in
its grief. I said to myself, like Cain, " My punish-
ment is greater than I can bear;" and then I
almost cursed myself for having thought of Cain —
for I had not murdered my cousin, though some-
body said I had killed her. For one instant anger
had maddened me ; without thought, without
intention, I had struck her — one hasty blow was
given, and now my youth was blighted, my peace
of mind was gone ; the source of all pure joys, of all
holy thoughts, was dried up within me. 1 should
never stand again in the sacred silence of the solemn
night, and feel as if its whispering winds were
bringing tidings from a better world to my soul.
And in those days of glowing beauty, when streams

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 77

of light intoxicate the eye, when all nature breaks
into song, or blossoms into flower, never again
should I feel myself as in past years, a part of that
bright creation, longing only, in the fulness of my
heart, to prostrate myself in fervent adoration
before Him who gave to the birds and to the
streams a voice to praise Him; to the glorious
heavens a charge to magnify Him ; and to man,
enthusiasm, emotion, poetry, music — all that lifts
the soul above itself and the material world around
it, to the wide fields of enraptured contemplation.

But now a chain would evermore weigh down
my spirits — a dark remembrance would ever stand
between me and the sunny skies — a tone, as of the
dying and the dead, would ever mingle with the
sounds of melody, with the voice of love, with the
words of affection. Yes —

*' All bright hopes and hues of day
Had faded into twilight grey ;"

or rather into the darkness of night. I wept

78 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

over myself, over my blighted youth, my destroyed
happiness, my lost innocence — and I was only
sixteen !

There I sat, that long night through ; my aunt
had sunk into the heavy slumber of exhaustion,
her hand in mine, her head on my shoulder.
I dared not move — scarcely breathe ; hot searing
tears were slowly chasing each other down my
cheeks, and the storm within was raging wildly in
my breast— but I did not pray ; I could not : a
sheet of lead seemed to stretch itself between me
and Heaven ; and when the light of day broke
slowly into the chamber of mourning, I closed my
eyes, not to see the sun in its calm majesty, dawn-
ing on the first day of my changed existence.

The first days that follow a great and sudden
misfortune carry with them a kind of excitement
that keeps off for a time the stunning sense of
desolation from the soul. My uncle returned on
the following morning, bearing with him the body

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 79

of his child, which he had at length succeeded in
rescuing from the bed of the torrent, which had
carried it down far below Elmsley.

The preparations for the interment in the village
church seemed to rouse the afflicted parents to
exertions, that, though intimately connected with
the loss that had befallen them, were almost a
relief to Mrs. Middleton, after the inactivity of the
last twenty-four hours.

I had hardly left her room all day, and when
she told me that my uncle expected us all to meet
him at dinner, I felt it would be impossible to go
through the trial ; but, as she was going to make
the exertion, I could not refuse to follow her.

When we entered the drawing-room together,
Edward Middleton and Henry Lovell were both
standing before the fire-place. It was well for me
that our meeting took place while the catastrophe
of the day before was so recent, that the agitation
I betrayed could pass under the garb of sorrow

80 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

and nervousness. I was trembling violently ;
I felt a degree of conviction, that amounted to
moral certainty, that one of those two men had
witnessed the frightful scene, which resembled
more a hideous dream, than an actual reality.
Both were coming to me with outstretched hands.
Could they both mean to take mine ? Did not
one of them know what that hand had done ?
A mist rose before my eyes, and I fainted.

When my senses returned, I found myself in
bed, my aunt by my side, and a number of restora-
tives employed to bring me back from my swoon.
I recovered, and the next morning, on awaking
after some hours of feverish and restless sleep, I
heard a noise in the court under my windows.

I rose hastily, and saw the funeral procession
moving slowly from the house across the grounds,
and taking its way towards the village church.
The little coffin was carried by four of the grey-
headed servants of the house ; my uncle and aunt

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 81

were walking on foot beside it, and my cousin and
Henry Lovell were following them. The rest of
the servants, among whom was Julia's nurse, and
almost all the inhabitants of the village, closed the
procession. I watched the funeral train till it was
out of sight, and for the first time I forgot myself,
for a few minutes, and my own dreadful share in
this calamity, and thought only of my aunt, and of
her misery. I called to mind too the image of that
child, whom I had so often nursed to sleep in her
infancy, whom 1 had carried in my arms, and held
to my bosom. When I pictured to myself the
little body laid in its narrow grave, and thought
how short a time ago life was strong within it, and
that it was my hand that had sent her to her watery
grave, my agony grew so intense that I wonder it
did not kill me, or drive me to some desperate act
of madness. It did not ; and pity for myself soon
hardened my heart against the sufferings of others.
I ceased to weep for Julia ; she was dead indeed ;
E 3

82 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

but was not death a blessing compared to such a
life as mine would be? My aunt had lost her
child ; but was not her sorrow as nothing in com-
parison with mine — mine, who had made her child-
less ? And now a sudden thought flashed on my
brain. Why was I at home ? Why was I alone ?
Did they suspect me ? Had the master of my fate,
the witness of my crime, warned them to keep the
murderess away from the grave of their child ?
Was I already become as a monster to them ?
Did they loathe the sight of me ? Would they
send me to prison ? or would they turn me out of
their house ; and should I fly along dusty roads,
and through dark alleys and crowded streets, and
would the mob follow, as I once read that they
followed a woman who was thought to have mur-
dered her child, and point at me, and hoot, and
groan, and cry " There goes the wretch that mur-
dered the child ? " I fell on my knees ; it seemed
as if there was a sound of footsteps behind me — a

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 83

shout of execration in my ears. It was a waking
nightmare; I was growing dehrious, and when I
felt something touch me, and a warm breath on my
shoulders, I gave a piercing scream, and fell with
my face on the ground. A low moaning roused
me from this state. I looked up and saw my great
Newfoundland dog, who always slept in my room ;
he was licking my hands and neck. His kind eyes
were looking at me from under the rough hair that
shaded them ; and he moaned gently as he did so.
I was still almost a child, for I suppose that none
but a child would have found comfort in this
creature's mute sympathy. As it was, I flung my
arms wildly round its neck, and sobbed. He did
not struggle, but patiently stood there, though my
tears were falling fast on his head. " Poor, poor
Hector ! you never will be told what I have done ;
you never will turn away from me with horror,
though all the world should do so. Poor, poor
Hector ! my good, my kind dog ! " This little in

84 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

cident had done me good, and the tears I had shed
had relieved me. I dressed myself, and when my
aunt entered my room at her return from the
funeral — when she embraced me with much
emotion — when she told me how she and my uncle
had hoped that I might have slept over the last
trying hour — when she tenderly reproached me for
having left my bed — when she drew me to her, and,
parting the hair that hung loosely and heavily on
my forehead, laid her cold hand upon it, and then
pressed me to her bosom — I felt a relief that for
the moment almost resembled joy. Under the in-
fluence of this momentary reaction I followed her
to the dining-room, where we found my uncle
sitting in mournful silence ; he pressed my hand as
I approached him, and we all sat down to eat, or
try to eat, the breakfast prepared for us. This
melancholy meal over, I withdrew to the furthest
end of the drawing-room, and sat down at my em-
broidery frame, which stood near to an open

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 85

window, and began to work with something hke
composure. From this moment everything about
us resumed its former aspect, and the habits of our
daily life seemed to have experienced scarcely any
change. My uncle's reserve and gloom were, per-
haps, somewhat deeper than before ; and Mrs. Mid-
dleton at times gave way to uncontrollable bursts of
grief; but her elastic spirit, bowed down for a while
by the pressure of sorrow, rose again with the
buoyancy which affliction can repress, but hardly
destroy in a nature like hers, to which happiness
seemed almost a condition of existence. A sorrow
which would have broken this spring within her
must have killed her — but this did not ; and the
full flow of her affections seemed to return in what
had once appeared to be their natural channel — she
clung to me with a fondness that seemed every
hour to increase. Superior as she was, there was
about her a kind of dependence upon others— upon
their love and their sympathy — which was in-

86

ELLEN MIDDLETON.

expressibly endearing. In those early times of
sorrow T received her caresses, and listened to the
words of love which she addressed to me, with
something of the spirit with which I can imagine
that the Holy Fran9oise de Chantal may have
pressed to her bosom, the burning cross, that
stamped upon her breast the sign of salvation,* —
at once the object of intense adoration and the
instrument of acute torture.

My cousin and Henry Lovell staid on at
Elmsley, and nothing, in the manner of either, gave
me the least clue to discover which was the possessor
of my dreadful secret. Both were kind to me, and
both seemed to regard me with more interest than
usual. In Edward's countenance I sometimes read
a look of severity, which made the blood forsake my
heart ; but then, at other times, his voice was so
gentle in speaking to me, his countenance had so

* Madame de Chantal, the Founder of the Order of the Visi-
tation, impressed upon her breast, with a burning iron, the sign
of the cross.

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 87

much sweetness in it, as he turned his eyes full
upon me, that I felt re-assured, though, at the same
time, intensely miserable.

With Henry I felt more at my ease — why 1
cannot tell, but he was the only person with
whom, since the fatal day of Julia's death, I could
speak in the same manner as I did before. There
was something soothing to my wayward feelings in
the thoughtless gaiety which he soon resumed. In
the course of a few weeks I persuaded myself nearly,
if not entirely, that fancy, allied with terror, had
conjured up, in that fatal hour, the cry which had
sounded in my ears; at least I pacified my fears
by repeating this supposition to myself. It was
like a sedative, that numbs without removing the
pain we feel. It made me better able to endure
what I had to go through. Church was a terrible
ordeal to me. I went of an afternoon only, for
several following Sundays, because I could not bear
to hear the commandments read ; and yet I hated

B8 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

myself for my weakness. One Sunday morning
Edward said to me, across the break fast- table,
" Pray Ellen, have you made a vow never to go to
church of a morning?'' I felt myself turning pale,
but answered quietly, " I am going now ;'' and I
went, and God only knows what I suffered there.

Riding grew into a passion with me at that time.
There is such excitement in the rapid motion — in
the impatience of the animal that bears one along
— in the sense of power — in the feeling of life,
which is never so strong within one, as when, over
a common, or a wild muir, one can dash along at
the horse's full speed, with the wind in one's face,
and the turf under one's feet. In every weather I
rode ; the more heavily it rained, the more wildly it
blew, the more I enjoyed excursions that lasted
several hours, and after which I returned home,
fatigued in body, excited in mind, and able to
sleep at night from sheer exhaustion. Henry was
my constant companion on these occasions, and

ELLEN MIDDLETON. OU

indulged every fancy I formed, as to the length
and direction of these excursions. He applauded
my courage when, arrested by no obstacles, I cleared
fence after fence, or waded through rapid streams,
in order to arrive, a quarter of an hour sooner, at
some point I had fixed upon. His talent for con-
versation was great, and he possessed the art of
captivating the attention to an extraordinary
degree. Intercourse with him became to me,
in a moral point of view, what riding was in a
physical. It was an exercise of the mental
faculties, that stunned them, and stilled the
process of self-tormenting within me. He admired
me — I saw it plainly, and far more than he
had done before the change that had come over
me; at least I fancied so; and one day, as I
was turning over the leaves of a blotting-paper
book, in the library, I found the following verses :

" She was a child, and in her dreamless eyes
There slept a world of unawakened thought —
And in her voice, her laughter, and her sighs,
No spirit lingered, and no magic wrought ;

90 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

For as the haze that veils the glorious skies

At morning prime ; or as the mist that lies

On ocean's might ; or as the solemn hour

Of Nature's silence, when the Heavens lower,

Such was her childhood ; but its hour is past ;

The veil is drawn, the mist has cleared at last.

And what though with a storm ! Who does not find

In wind, in waves, in Nature's wildest strife

With things material, or in man's own mind,

A deeper and more glorious sense of life

Than in the calm of silent apathy ?

Who would not stand within the Sun's full blaze,

Though scorched and dazzled by his burning rays ?

Oh, we can watch with ardent sympathy.

The stormy floods of rising passion roll

Their swelling surges o'er the silent soul ;

And we can gaze exulting on the brow

Where restless thoughts and new, are crowding now ;

Each throb, each struggle, serving but to feed|

The flame of genius, and the source of thought.

Be mine the task, be mine the joy, to read

Each mood, each change, by time and feeling wrought,

And as the mountain stream reflects the light

That shoots athwart the sky's tempestuous track.

So shall my soul, her soul's impassioned might.

As in a broken mirror, image back."

I read these lines with a strange mixture of
sensations. "Does he know the truth?" was
my first thought ; and it made the blood rush to
my cheeks. The next was, " Whether he knows
it or not, he admires me." I smiled with bitter-
ness indeed, but still I smiled ; and as I read these

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 91

verses, over and over again, they seemed to change
the current of my feelings. For the first time, I said
to myself, " There are things in the world yet worth
living for, besides those I have forfeited — peace
of mind, and an untroubled conscience. — There is
genius, which, as he says, thrives in the atmosphere
of suffering ; there is the power which genius gives
to " ride triumphant, and have the world at will ;"
there are the powerful emotions of the soul when
struggling for mastery, when intoxicated with
success, when revelHng in homage. If sorrow, if
guilt, if despair, have made my eyes more bewitch-
ing, and my voice more thrilling; if they have
roused the latent spirit within me, it shall not be
in vain ; I will drink deeply at these new sources
of enjoyment, if not of happiness ; I will cast
behind me the burden borne in such anguish ; I
will break with the past, the dreadful past, and
begin a new era.*" And, seizing the paper which
was lying on the table, I walked quickly across

92 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

the library. As I turned the corner of the recess
which formed the eastern end of the gallery, T saw
Edward sitting by the window, where often, during
the preceding summer, we had watched the sunset
together. The last rays of the departing light
streamed upon him, as he sat absorbed in thought ;
a book was on his knees ; it seemed to have dropt
from his hand in the depth of his abstraction ;
his faultless features, his chiselled mouth, the
peculiar colour of his hair, and the light which
shed around him a kind of halo, made him at that
moment resemble the pictures of saints which
Raphael and Domenichino have painted.

It seemed to me hke a vision ; in the highly
excited state in which I then was I almost fancied it
such ; and the restless tide of thought within me
took a new direction; the tears sprung into my
eyes, and I turned away, with a softer feeling at
my heart than I had known there for a long while.
As I moved towards the door, the rustling of my

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 93

gown disturbed Edward ; he called to me to come
and admire the glowing colours of the sky, where
clouds over clouds of red and purple hue were
floating in an atmosphere of burnished gold.
I went to him, and we stood together for several
minutes, till the sun descending quite beneath the
horizon, left the room in comparative darkness.
I then withdrew, but it was not till I reached my
room that I found I had dropt the paper on
which Henry's verses were written. I felt annoyed
at this, and retraced my steps to the library door,
but before I reached it, I met Edward, and in his
hand he held the very paper I was come in search
of. I did not venture to claim it from him, but
he held it out to me at once, and said coldly,
" Is this your propert}^ ? " I felt confused,
neither venturing to deny, or liking to admit the
fact. In my embarrassment I muttered some-
thing about a copy of verses that Henry had
written out for me, and, hastily stretching out

94 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

my hand for the paper, I took it, and walked away
without further explanation.

On the evening of this day we were all sitting
round a table, on which work, books, and imple-
ments for writing were spread about. Henry Lovell
was even more than usually animated, and spoke
well and eloquently on a variety of subjects. Mrs.
Middleton joined eagerly in the conversation ;
Edward listened attentively, but spoke seldom.
I remember every word he said that evening. Once
Henry requested us all to say what it was we
hated most, and what it was we valued most.
I forget what I said, what he said, what my aunt
said, but I know that to the first question, Edward
answered, duplicity ; and to the second, truth ; and
as he pronounced the word truth, he fixed his eyes
upon me, accidentally perhaps, but so sternly that
I quailed under his glance. A few minutes after,
Henry read aloud from a little book that was lying
before him, the following question : " Qu' est ce que

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 95

la vie? Quel est son but? Quelle est sa fin?"
" 1 will write my answer on the margin,"*' he cried,
and wrote, "Jouir et puis mourir;" and then
handed the book to me. I seized the pencil, and
hastily added these words, " Souffrir, et puis
mourir." Edward read them, and looked at me
less sternly than before, but with an earnest inquir-
ing expression of countenance ; then lightly draw-
ing a line with the pencil across the two preceding
sentences, he wrote this one underneath them,
'^ Bien vivre, pour bien mourir," and gave me
back the book.

In general he spoke little ; but there was much
meaning in what he said. His reserve gave me
a feeling of embarrassment with him, which, at
the time I am writing of, was particularly irksome.
He forced one to think, and I preferred dreaming
alone, or drowning thought, in talk with Henry.
With the latter I became more intimate than ever :
we read together, and it seemed to me that he always

96 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

chose such books as excited my imagination to
the utmost, and wrought upon my feelings, without
touching on any of the subjects that would have
painfully affected me. I tried to write too. From
my earliest childhood I had felt great facility
in composition, and it was one of Mrs. Middleton's
favourite amusements to look over my various
attempts, and to encourage the talent which she
fancied I possessed ; but now I vainly tried to
exert it ; my mind was not capable of a continued
effort. I beheve it is Madame de Stael who
remarks (and how truly) that to write one must
have suffered, and have struggled ; one must have
been acquainted with passion and with grief; but
they must have passed away from the soul ere
the mind can concentrate its powers, and bring its
energies to bear on the stores which an experience
in suffering has accumulated within us. And it
was this very helplessness of mind, this fever in
the intellect, which threw me, with such fatal

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 97

dependance, on the resources which Henry Lovell's
conversation and society afforded me. If he
left Elmsley for a single day 1 felt the want of
them so keenly, that I welcomed him back in
in a way that may have deceived others, deceived
him, deceived myself perhaps — I know not — I
lived but for excitement, and if the stimulus failed,
I sunk for the time into momentary apathy. We
sung together sometimes, and my voice seemed to
have gained strength during the last few months
— the old hall at Elmsley vibrated with the notes
which, with the impetuosity that characterised
everything I did at that time, I threw out with
the full consciousness of power. Often of an
evening I sat down at the organ that was placed
in the gallery of the hall, and, forming various
modulations on its deep melodious keys, soothed
myself into a kind of dreamy unconscious-
ness.

One day I had gone there as usual ; it was

VOL. I. F

ELLEN MIDDLETON.

towards dusk, and I was just come home from a
long ride on a cold December day. I began play-
ing, but, gradually overcome by drowsiness, I fell
asleep, my hand still on the keys of the organ,
and my head resting against the edge of the high-
backed chair I was sitting on. Whether it was
the uneasiness of this posture, or my damp un-
curled hair that was hanging on my face, or else
that in sleep we discern, though it awaken us not,
when something is moving near us, I know not,
but my sleep was painful in the extreme. I felt
as if there was a hard breathing close to me ; but,
turn which way I would in my dream, I could see
nothing. Then I felt as if some one was laying
hold of me, and I tried to scream, but could not.
Then I seemed suddenly to stand on the steps of
the fatal stairs (I had often, since the day of Julia's
death, dreamt the fearful scene over, and the
impression which the dreadful reality had left on
my mind was such that I had never since ventured

ELLEN MIDDLBTON. 99

to stand* on that spot,) but now it was not of
Julia that I dreamed. I was being dragged down
myself to the bottom of the precipice, and the
person who was forcing me along into the yawning
gulf wore the form of Henry Lovell, and spoke
with his voice. 1 called to him to stop — I en-
treated him with frantic violence to forbear, but
just as we were reaching the hollow he suddenly
turned round, and there was Edward Middleton's
face looking ghastly pale, and frowning upon me
fearfully. I fell back, and the movement 1 must
have made at that moment probably awoke me.
I roused myself with that uneasy feeling which a
terrific dream leaves on one's mind, and timidly
looked about me. I was alone; there was the
music-book before me, and the two candles burning
as I had left them, but by the side of one of them
was a coarse bit of paper, and on it was written
(oh my God ! how fervently I prayed at that mo-
ment that I might yet wake, and find 1 was still
f2

100 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

dreaming) — on it was written in large round letters
" Beware ! I kxow your secret !"

There have been so many dreadful moments in
my life, all turning upon the one event that put
the stamp upon it, that I will not vainly endeavour
to describe the misery of each ; but this was one
of the worst. I knew not what to think — vi^hat
to suspect. Was it indeed some one else, and not
Edward Middleton or Henry Lovell, who had
seen the share I had had in Julia's death ? But
no, it could not be. No servant of the house was
at hand, no visitor could have been there, for it
had been difficult in the extreme, at the fatal
moment, to procure any help ; and every person
in the house had accounted for their absence in
some way or other. Why, too, should they have
been silent till now ? And this paper, these words,
there was no demand, no extortion in them — a
simple intimation.

I remained frightened, bewildered, and wholly

ELLEN MIDDLETON.

101

unable to rally against this new source of anxiety.
I kept my bed for two days, confined there by a
feverish attack. On the third the doctor pro-
nounced me better, and able to go into the draw-
ing room. As I was lying there on the sofa, my
aunt, who was sitting by me, nursing me as usual
with the tenderest solicitude, said, " I have just
received a note from Edward, which takes me
quite by surprise. You know he left us on the
day after the one upon which you were taken ill,
to 20 for a week or two to London, and now he
writes me word that he is going abroad for a year,
and that he will not be able to return to Elmsley
to take leave of us. Such a flighty proceeding
would be very like you, Henry, but I do not
understand it in Edward."

Gone, and for a year ! the day after I was taken
ill, too ! Quick as lightning a sudden thought
flashed across my mind. I drew a deep breath,
but forced myself to say, " Had he told you of
this plan, Henry ?"

102 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

" I have had a letter from him also," was his
answer ; " and I thought he looked graver than
usual."

Later in the afternoon, when we were left alone,
he came and sat down by me, and, drawing a letter
from his pocket, he said, " Ellen, I wish you to
read this letter, and to tell me frankly what you
think of it— I own I do not understand it. He
alludes to some secret, to some sorrow, it would
almost seem, that he cannot disclose, and that has
rendered Elmsley unpleasant to him. There is
but one conjecture that I could make ; but as
nothing in his manner or in his way of going on
corroborates it, I cannot seriously entertain it, and
that is, that he is in love with you ; but you will
judge for yourself." Edward's letter was as
follows : —

" My DEAR LOVELL,

" A circumstance which I can neither explain
nor dwell upon, and which had better remain buried

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 103

in oblivion, has made a further residence at Elmsley
so painful to me that I have come to the decision
of going abroad immediately, and of remaining
absent for a year at least. To your sister I have
written to announce my intentions, and at the same
time to express my deep sense of her own and my
uncle's constant kindness to me. To you I do not
wish to disguise the fact that my resolution is not
founded on caprice^ — that I have a reason for what
I do, however unnecessary it is to state what that
reason is. Our friendship makes it incumbent upon
me to be so far explicit ; but I beg that you will
never allude, by w^ord or by letter, to the cause of
my absence, and that you will never question me
on the subject. I have left in my room a book
which I wish you to give Ellen from me. I dis-
like leave-takings, and shall therefore proceed to
Dover from hence, without returning again to
Elmsley. " Sincerely yours,

^' Edward Middleton."

104 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

It was as I had thought, then. There was the
secret I had so anxiously sought to discover. He,
Edward Middleton, was the possessor of mine !
He had never, then, since the day of Julia's death,
looked upon me, or thought of me, but as the
murderer of his little cousin — as a wretch whom
nothing but his forbearance could keep in the
house, from which she ought to have been turned
out with horror and execration. He had, how-
ever, forborne to ruin, to destroy me ; and a
feeling of tenderness stole over my heart at the
thought. But that paper — that dreadful paper;
was that his last farewell to me ? Did he wish
to make me feel that I was in his power ? — that he
held the sword of vengeance suspended over my
head, and that present, or absent, I was to tremble
at his name? This was unhke Edward Middle-
ton — this was unworthy of him. He should have
come to me, and charged me with my crime. He
should have stood before me with that stern com-

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 105

raanding brow, and pronounced my sentence ; and
I would have knelt to him, and submitted to any
penance, to any expiation he might have enjoined ;
but an unsigned, an unavowed threat, a common
anonymous letter — away with it ! away with it !
Base, miserable device for him to resort to ! My
very soul sickened at the thought ; and, in the
midst of all my other sufferings, I suffered at
feeling how low he had fallen in my estima-
tion.

I was so completely absorbed in these reflec-
tions, that I was only roused from my abstraction
by Henry's asking me, in an impatient tone,
" Well, what do you gather from that letter,
every word of which you seem to have learned by
heart?"

" Nothing," I replied, " except that Edward
is as incomprehensible as he is unsatisfactory."

He seemed tolerably satisfied with my answer,
and, taking away the letter, did not allude again
f3

106 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

to the subject, and only sent me by my maid the
book which Edward had desired him to transmit
to me. It was the " Christian Year," that
wonderful, that all but inspired book. I opened
it with emotion, and perhaps it might have made
a powerful impression upon me, had I not found
the passages in it which allude to guilt and to
remorse, carefully marked with a pencil, and
thus, in a manner, forced on my notice. This
seemed to me the sequel of the menacing words
so cruelly addressed to me, and the pride of my
soul — dare I also say, the native integrity of my
character — rose against such a system of secret in-
timidation. My heart hardened against the book,
and against the giver, and I thrust it impatiently
out of my sight.

Although sick at heart, grieved in spirit, and
humbled to the dust at this solution of the mys-
tery which had hung over me, yet there was some
repose in the degree of security it afforded against

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 107

any sudden revolution in my destiny. I was
somewhat calmer, and sometimes, for a few hours
together, I shook off the burden from my soul,
and, in outward manner at least, resembled my
former self.

108

CHAPTER III.

In virgin fearlessness, with step that seemed
Caught from the pressure of elastic turf
Upon the mountains, gemmed with morning dew,
In the prime morn of sweetest scents and airs ;
Serious and thoughtful was her mind, and yet,
By reconcilement, exquisite and rare
The form, port, motions, of this cottage girl
"Were such, as might have quickened or inspired
A Titian's hand, addressed to picture forth
Oread or Dryad, glancing through the shade.
What time the hunter's earliest horn is heard
Startling the golden hills.

" Excursion" — Wordsworth.

On one of those mild days, which occur now and
then during the winter, and which bear with them
a peculiar charm, Mrs. Middleton and I had
strolled out together, after breakfast, into her own
flower garden. She was making a winter nosegay
of the few hardy flowers that had outlived the

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 109

frost, and that seemed reviving in the strange
softness of this January day.

" What a morning for a ride ! my own Ellen,"
said my aunt, as we leant on the stone wall, which
felt quite warm with the rays of the wintry sun.
" What do you say to ordering the horses, taking
a long gallop, and coming home to me with a
bloom on your dear cheeks, which look too often
like that flower, and too seldom like this one ;*" and
she showed me, with a smile, a white camellia, and
a China rose, which she had just gathered in the
green -house.

'' I will do as you wish, dear aunt — please
myself, and have the merit of obedience into the
bargain ; and I shall take these flowers too, to put in
my hair this evening. But where shall I ride ?"

" If you have no choice, my darling, I will give
you an errand. You know Bridman Manor?"

**0 yes; the ruins of the old hall, which my
maid used to call the ' ghost-house,** — the old-

no ELLEN MIDDLETON.

fashioned gardens, with their broken statues and
evergreen alleys, that always put me in mind of
your favourite lines, by Mary Howitt —

* 0, those old abbey gardens, with their devices rich ;
Their fountains and green solemn walks, and saints in
many a niche.'

I shall like of all things to go there to-day ; but
what is your errand ? "

" Why, I do not know if I ever told you that
your uncle had been so kind as to give up to me
that pretty cottage of his, that stands on the east
side of Bridman-terrace wall, for old Mrs. Tracy,
who was my nurse, and afterwards Henry's. You
have seen her, have you not, Ellen ? "

" No," I answered ; " but I have often heard
you mention her."

" She was a person of some importance in our
family at one time. You know that my mother
died in childbirth, and that Henry's life as an
infant was only saved by this woman's unwearied

ELLEN MIDDLETON. Ill

devotion. She was passionately attached to
Henry, and her singular disposition and turn of
mind gave her a hold upon him which he did not
entirely shake off even when he was taken from
under her care. I believe her temper was violent ;
but as a child he never suffered from it, and quite
idolised her. She had a great deal of natural
cleverness, and her manners and language were
always different from those of persons in her rank
of life. I shall be curious to hear what you think
of her."

" What made you think of establishing her at
Bridman.?"

" Her son and his wife, who had gone out to
India three years ago, and left their children in
her care, had both died of a fever at Madras.
She felt anxious to remove from the neighbour-
hood of London, and to settle in this part of the
country. She came to me last summer, and asked
my advice on the subject. I felt much interested

112 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

about her, for it was an only son she had lost,
and his children are, with the exception of Henry,
the only objects of interest she has in the world.
Her voice trembled with emotion whenever she
mentioned them ; and though she is tolerably well
off as to money, I believe, I felt glad to afford
her, in her affliction, a quiet and pleasant home.
Your uncle agreed to her living in Bridman Cot-
tage, and I hear she settled there a short time ago.
I should like to send her a kind message, and to
hear how she is going on."

" I shall be dehghted to be your messenger, and
will instantly prepare for the ride. As you are
going back to the breakfast room, pray tell Henry
to be in readiness.'"

At twelve o'clock the horses came round; we
mounted, and set off at a brisk gallop across the
Park. As I turned into the lane that led in the
direction of Bridman Manor, Henry asked me
where I meant to go ?

ELLEN MIDDLETON.

113

" To pay a visit.""

« To whom ? "

" To an acquaintance of yours/'

" Who can you mean ? "

" A very old acquaintance of yours."

" My dear Ellen, y9u are taking quite a wrong
road : this lane leads to no house and to no cot-
tage that we are acquainted with."

" I beg your pardon ; it leads to Bridman
Manor, and I am going there.""

" Who do you know there ? "

" Nobody ; but I am going to make acquaint-
ance with your old nurse, Mrs. Tracy."

He muttered something which sounded to me
like an oath, and as I turned and looked at him,
I was astonished at the singular expression of his
countenance. He smiled, however, and said :

" You will be making acquaintance in that case
with one of the most insupportable women that
ever lived. I strongly recommend you to keep

114 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

out of her way. She wears my life out with her
querulous temper and tiresome complaints ; and
as I do not want to go through a scene with her,
you would greatly obb'ge me, Ellen, by giving up
this project.''

" I am going there with a message from Mrs.
Middleton ; but you need not appear. Hide
yourself in the manor woods, if you dare not
face your nurse, and I will join you there on
my way home."

Henry looked both vexed and provoked, but
made no answer. He soon rallied, however, and
began again talking and laughing in his usual
manner. As we were slowly mounting a hill, his
horse suddenly stumbled ; he jumped off, and,
calling to me to stop, he examined his foot ; and
finding, or pretending to find, a stone in it, he
set about vainly endeavouring to knock it out.

" I cannot go on any further, Ellen : all I
shall be able to manage will be to get home

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 115

without laming this horse ; so pray turn back
now ; — you can take this message some other
day."

" Sit down on that bank, ' that mossy bank
where the violets grow,' my dear Henry, and
muse there in sober sadness, while I face the
dragon in her den." And saying these words,
I galloped off without further discussion. I had
not gone far before he overtook me ; and quoting
the words of Andrew Fairservice in " Rob Roy,""
which we had been reading lately, he cried out :

'' ' Well, a wilful man maun have his way :
he who will to Curragh, must to Curragh ! ' " and
we proceeded on our road.

On passing the gates of Bridman Manor, we
skirted the edge of the woods till we came to a
terrace, where the ground was laid out in quaint
patterns; and vases, some broken, some in tolerable
preservation, were still ranged with some sort of
symmetry. By the side of what had once been a

116 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

fountain sat a group that attracted my attention
by the picturesque effect which it afforded.
On the back of one of those nondescript semi-
human monsters, whose yawning mouths once
formed the spouts of the fountain, sat a girl whose
features struck me as perfectly faultless, and deli-
cate almost beyond what one could have fancied
possible in a living creature of real flesh and blood.
She resembled the ideal of a sculptor; her little
hand was laid on the moss-stained marble, and
though not very white, its shape was so perfect
that it was pleasant to gaze upon it as it is
upon any rare work of art. Near her was
a little boy, apparently about three years old,
who was standing on tiptoe, and thrusting his
curly head into the cavity of the sphinx's mouth ;
another boy, who might have been ten or twelve
years of age, had cHmbed up to the vaulted top of
the fountain, and was looking down from that
position at a little trickling thread of water, which

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 117

Still found its way into the basin below, though
its passage was nearly choked by the moss and the
creeping plants that intercepted its course.

As we were passing them the girl looked up, and,
suddenly rising, curtseyed ; and, taking hold of the
little boy's hand, said, " Mr. Henry."

Henry stopped his horse, and, bowing to her
in a manner that rather surprised me, in a voice
that sounded to me unlike his usual one, he asked
her if her grandmother was at home.

" Yes, sir, she is," was her answer.

He turned to me and said, " That is Alice
Tracy, Ellen ; you can make acquaintance with
her, while I speak to that boy there, who seems in
a fair way to break his neck."

Dismounting hastily, he threw his horse's reins
over one of the spikes of the adjoining railing, and
sprung up to the spot where the boy was perched.

" Is that pretty child your brother ? " I inquired
of the beautiful girl who stood before me.

118 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

" He is," she answered ; and lifting up the blush-
ing boy, who was hiding himself behind her, she
turned his reluctant glowing little face full towards
me, in spite of his struggling efforts to thrust it into
her lap ; and then bent down to kiss his forehead,
saying at the same time, " Naughty Johnny !"

" Will you come to me, Johnny," was my next
attempt at acquaintance.

" No, I won't," was the answer.

" What, not to ride this pretty black horse ? "

" Yes, I will," was as resolutely pronounced ; and
soon the little fellow was hoisted up to my knees,
and began amusing himself by vigorously puUing
at my Selim's black mane.

" 1 am come with a message to your grand-
mother from Mrs. Middleton, she is anxious to
know how you like Bridman."

" I dare say grandmother likes it very much ;
and Mrs. Middleton is very kind.""

" Do you like it ? "

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 119

" O yes."

" Better than the last place you lived at ? "

" That was very nice, but this is better."

" What do you hke better in it ? '"

" Many things."

At this moment I saw the boy who had been
speaking with Henry dart off suddenly, and scam-
per away in the direction of the village. Henry at
the same time joined us.

" Ah," he exclaimed, '* you have contrived to
tame that unmanageable little savage, who always
screams when he sets eyes on me. Well, suppose
you give him a ride up to the entrance of the
village, and then Alice can walk home with us, and
introduce you to her grandmother.*"

Alice made some objections to Johnny's length-
ened ride, which he (Johnny) resented by pushing
her most stoutly away, when she attempted to
remove him from his post ; and victoriously shout-
ing over her discomfiture, he shook the bridle with

120 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

exultation, and we proceeded towards the village.
As we arrived in sight of Bridman Cottage, the
boy who had preceded us came running back to
meet us ; and I heard him say in a low voice, as
he came up to Henry, " Granny 's in, and I've
done your bidding/'

Henry then advised me to get off my horse ; and
lifting down the child first, he helped me to
dismount, and we walked to the cottage. It was
one of those lovely little homes that we rarely see
but in England, and that look (would that they
always were !) like the chosen abodes of peace and
happiness. The low thatched roof — the bright
square-paned little windows — the porch overgrown
with clematis, jessamine, and honeysuckle — the
garden, where gooseberry bushes and stately hol-
lyhocks grow side by side. Of this description
was Bridman Cottage, and one of the loveliest that
I ever set eyes upon.

As we entered an elderly female came to the

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 121

door, and, making me a curtsey, said, in a formal
manner, " This is an honour I had not looked to,
but I know how to be thankful for it, Miss Middle-
ton. Mr. Henry, I hope I see you well ? "

"As well as usual, thank you (he replied).
Miss Middleton has brought you a message from
her aunt."

" Yes," I immediately said ; " Mrs. Middleton
is very anxious to know that you find yourself
happy and comfortable here, and would have come
herself to see you, if she had been able to leave my
uncle for so long ; but he has been ill lately, and
she scarcely ever goes far from the house."

" Tell Mrs. Middleton, ma'am, that the house is
good ; that the children are well ; and that I am
grateful to her."

There was something chilling in the manner with
which this was said, and the glassy eyes and thin
lips of Mrs. Tracy were far from prepossessing.

I made, however, another effort, and said, " If

VOL. I. G

122 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

you could manage to get as far as Elmsley, my
aunt would, I know, be glad to see you."

" I have nursed her at my bosom, and carried
her in my arms, and I do not care less for her now
than I did then ; but if it was to save her life, I
would not go to Elmsley and see ^"

" Me there," exclaimed Henry. " I told you,
Ellen, that I should have to go through a scene,
and now, I suppose, it must come to pass. Go up
stairs with Alice while I make my peace ; " and as
he spoke, he almost pushed me out of the room,
and shut the door.

Alice followed me, and said, in her gentle voice,
as I stood at the bottom of the narrow stairs, some-
what puzzled, and at a loss what to do,

" If you will come to my room, Miss Middleton,
I can show you some of the reasons that make me
like Bridman so much."

I gladly assented. She led the way, and opened
the door of a small room, in which there was no

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 123

furniture, but a little bed, with dimity curtains of
snowy whiteness, a deal table, and two straw chairs.

" This is a nice room," she said ; " but come to
the window, and you will see one of my reasons."

She threw up the sash, and pointed with her
little hand to the village church, which rose in quiet
beauty from among the leafless trees.

" Is it not pretty ? " she asked, with a smile.

" Very pretty," I answered ; and as I used her
own simple words, I felt that there was that in
them, said as she said them, that is often wanting
in pages of impassioned eloquence, in volumes of
elaborate composition, — reality. She was happy in
this place, because of her little room, and because
of the view of the village church, which she could
see from its window. How pure must be the mind,
how calm must be the life, when such a circum-
stance can give a colouring to it.

" Alice, have youno books ? I see none here."

" I have a few ; do you wish to see them ? "
G 2

124 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

" Yes, I do ; I should like to know what books
you like."

" Then I must show you another of my reasons"
she said, with one of her sweet calm smiles, and
opened the door of another very small room, which
had no other entrance than through her own.

There was a little table in it, and a wooden stool,
both were placed near the window ; upon the table
lay two books — one was a Bible, the other a large
prayer-book, bound in red morocco, and illustrated
with prints. A shelf hung in one corner ; " Jeremy
Taylor's Holy Living and Dying," the " Pilgrim's
Progress," " Bishop Hebers Hymns," and a few
more books besides, were ranged upon it. Among
them, a small one, which I was well acquainted
with, called " Birds and Flowers," attracted my
attention. I asked Alice if she had read it through.

'' Yes, 1 have," she replied " Mr. Henry gave it
me a few months ago."

I involuntarily started, and looked up into her

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 125

face, as she said this ; but not a shade of embar-
rassment was to be seen there.

She went on to say — " He gave it to me because
I was so fond of this poor flower; " and she pointed
to a sickly creeping plant, that grew out of a pot,
which was placed on the window sill.

" You would not know it again now," she con-
tinued ; " but last summer it was growing against
the wall in the little patch of garden we had at
Bromley, and a beautiful flower it was."

" But what had it to do with this book, more
than any other flower, Alice ? "

" It is a little story, but I will tell it you if you
wish it. I sprained my ankle last summer, and
could not walk for many weeks. Granny or brother
Walter used to drive me in my chair to the open
window, to breathe the fresh air, and look at the
flowers in our little garden. There was nothing
else to look at there — nothing but roofs of houses
and black chimneys ; but up the wall, and as high

ELLEN MIDDLETON.

as my window, grew this very plant, that looks so
dead now, poor thing. Day after day I watched
its flowers, though I did not know their names, till
I got to see in them things that I thought nobody
but me had ever noticed."

"What things, Alice?"

"A cross, a crown of thorns, nails, and a hammer."

"The Passion Flower!"

" So Mr. Henry told me one day when he found
me reading my new kind of book. It was like a
book to me, that pretty flower ; it made me think
of holy things as much as a sermon ever did."

" And Henry brought you then this book,
because of the poem in it on the Passion Flower ?"

" He did, and read it to me out loud. It felt
strange but pleasant to have one's own thoughts
spoken out in such words as those."

"And you brought away your Passion Flower
with you."

" Yes, but it is dying now ; and this gives me

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 127

thoughts too, which I wish somebody would write
about. I should like to hear them read out."

I took up her book, and drawing a pencil from
my pocket, I rapidly wrote down the following
lines : —

'* 0 wish her not to live again,
Thy dying passion flower,
For better is the calm of death
Than life's uneasy hour.

Weep not if through her wither' d stem

Is creeping dull decay ;
Weep not, if ere the sun has set,

Thy nursling dies away.

The blast was keen, the winter snow

Was cold upon her breast ;
And though the sun is shining now

Still let thy flower rest.

Her tale is told ; her slender strength

Has left her drooping form.
She cannot raise her bruised head

To face another storm.

Then gently lay her down to die,

Thy broken passion flower ;
And let her close her troubled life

With one untroubled hour."

Alice read these lines as I wrote them. When

128 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

I had finished, she shook her head gently, and
said, —

" These are pretty words, and pretty thoughts
too ; but not my thoughts."

" Tell me your own thoughts, Alice ; I would
fain hear them."

" I can't," she said.

" Try."

" I think as I see the flowers die so quietly, that
they should teach us to die so too. I think, when
I see my poor plant give up her sweet life without
complaining, that it is because she has done what
she ought to do, and left nothing undone which
she ought to have done. I planted her in my little
garden, and she grew up to my window ; she gave
me buds first, and then flowers— bright smiling
flowers; and when I was ill she gave me holy,
happy thoughts about God and Christ. And
therefore I wish to do likewise — to do my duty in
that state of life to which it shall please God to

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 129

call me; and then to die quietly, when it shall
please Him, like my passion flower."

As she was finishing these words, I was startled
by the loud and angry tones of Henry and of
Mrs. Tracy, who seemed to be disputing violently.
They were speaking both at the same time, and
his voice was quite hoarse with anger. T over-
heard these words : — " I tell you that if you do
not command yourself, and behave as I desire you,
I will never see you again, or put my foot into
your house."

A tremendous oath followed this threat, and
then their voices subsided. I looked at Alice ;
she seemed concerned, but not surprised or agitated,
at what was going on down stairs, and merely
closed the door of her room, which had been left
open. At that moment, however, Henry came
half-way up the stairs, and calling to me said that
it was late, and that we had better be setting out
again. I complied, and in coming down into the
g3

130 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

room below I was civilly greeted by Mrs. Tracy,
who thanked me for my visit, and muttered some-
thing about hoping we should soon meet again.
Had it not been for Alice, who had interested and
charmed me to an extraordinary degree, I should
have formed exactly a contrary wish, for I had
never more heartily agreed with any opinion than
with that which Henry had pronounced about his
former nurse; and her civility was to my mind
more repulsive still than her ungraciousness. I took
leave of her coldly enough, but earnestly pressing
Alice's hand as I mounted my horse, I whispered
in her ear, " Alice, I like your poem better than
mine,'"* and rode off.

We took a different road from that we had
come by, and skirted the edge of a small lake
that lies on the eastern side of the Bridman
Woods. The day was altered, and dark clouds
were beginning to gather over the sky; the
wind was whistling among the bare branches, and

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 131

Henry was unusually silent and pre-occupied. I
felt depressed too, and we did not speak for some
time. I was revolving in my mind what possible
cause there could be for a man of Henry's cha-
racter and habits entering into such a violent
altercation with a person of Mrs. Tracy's age
and inferior rank in life. His temper was gene-
rally good, and his manners peculiarly gentleman-
like ; his conduct, therefore, (however provoking
she might have been,) appeared to me unaccount-
able. I could not help wondering also, that he
should have associated on evidently intimate terms
with that lovely Alice, and yet had never men-
tioned her to any of us, even in casual conversation.
There had not been a word, however, or a look, of
his or of hers, that could, for an instant, have
allowed one to suppose that there had been any
thing in their intercourse which either could have
wished to hide. As to her, I could as soon have
suspected of impurity the pearly drops that hung

132 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

lightly on each twig of the hawthorn bushes that
we passed, as her young life of one evil action, or
her young mind of one evil thought. The deep
blue waters of the little lake that lay stretched
at our feet, were not more calm and more pure than
her eyes ; and in the marble paleness of her fair
brow — in the divine purity of her child-like mouth
— in the quiet innocence of her whole bearing,
there was that which seemed to speak of

" Maiden meditation, fancy free."
We were going at a brisk pace alongside the
water, and the rapidity of our motion facihtated
silence ; but as we turned away from the lake, and
began ascending a steep acclivity, which led to
the moors we had yet to cross on our way home,
we were forced to slacken our pace, and as we
did so, I asked Henry in a half-joking manner,
" Have you recovered the passion you were in
just now? Your forebodings seem to have been
fully reahsed."

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 133

" Thanks to you," he answered in a short dry-
manner.

" Come, come," I said, " do not visit upon me
Mrs. Tracy's disagreeableness. Indeed I think
you are not as patient with her as you ought
to be, considering she is an old woman, and was
your nurse. You were speaking to her with in-
conceivable violence."

" You overheard what I said to her."
" Only a few words, and a dreadful oath."
" I was not aware that you were listening at
the door. Had I imagined that you had stationed
yourself there, I should certainly have been more
guarded in my expressions."

1 felt the colour rising into my cheeks, for the
tone of his voice had something in it still more
insulting than his words; but I answered care-
lessly, "It is a pity you did not think it worth
while to be gentleman-like, whether you were
overheard or not."

134

ELLEN MIDDLETON.

He coloured in his turn, and bit his lips ; but
suddenly changing the subject, he abruptly said,
" How do you like Alice ?""

" As I like all the beautiful things which God
has made, and that man has not spoilt."

'^She is very pretty; and she has a kind of
cleverness too; but there is something tame and
insipid about her, notwithstanding. In fact, I do
not understand her."

" How should the serpent understand the dove?"
I muttered to myself, and then my heart smote
me for my unkind thoughts of Henry. I felt
myself guilty of ingratitude, nay more, of hypo-
crisy, in thinking evil of one whose society I so
much valued, and who certainly devoted himself
to me with no common assiduity. I never could
exactly explain to myself what my feelings were
with regard to him at that time. As I said
before, it would have been a severe trial to me
had he left Elmsley, even for a short time.

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 135

Hour after hour I spent in conversation with
him, hardly aware of the lapse of time, so great
was the fascination that his powerful, original,
and, withal, cultivated understanding, exercised
over me; and yet, at the same time, an involun-
tary feeling of mistrust — an unaccountable shudder
of repugnance — now and then shot over me as
I listened to the sound of his voice, or as my
eyes met his — and yet they were beautiful; his
eyes, with their deep-gray colour that looked
black by candle-light, and the fringing of their
dark lashes. There was something refined in
the shape of his small aquiline nose — in the form
of his wide but well-formed mouth, both of which,
when he was eager, bore an expression which I
can only compare to that of a fiery horse when
he tosses his mane, and snuffs the air of the
plain which he is about to scour. Then why was
it, that as I looked on his beauty, day by
day, I found pleasure, if not happiness, in his

136 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

devotion to me — why was it, that, now and then,
the words fearful, false, and heartless, darted across
my mind as I thought of him ? and were instan-
taneously followed by a thrill of self-reproach,
for I was false to him, not he to me; false in
the contrast between my outward bearing and
my secret and involuntary impulses. Jt was 1
that was heartless, in feeling no real attachment
for one whose life evinced an unvarying devoted-
ness to me. False ! Heartless ! Was I really so ?
Resentment had hardened my heart against Edward
Middleton, and every kind feeling I had ever
entertained towards him was turned to bitterness.
Painful associations, and fearful remembrances,
had thrown a dark shade over the pure and holy
love of my childhood — the enthusiastic affection 1
had felt for my aunt; — and as to Henry Lovell,
whose society I eagerly sought, and whose attach-
ment I appeared to reciprocate, I was forced at
times to confess to myself that there was not a grain

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 137

of tenderness in the feverish predilection I enter-
tained for him. I felt to hate myself for the
deadness and coldness of my heart. I despised
myself for the inconsistent impulses of my soul.
Abased in my own eyes, condemned by my
own judgment, I often applied to myself the
words of Holy Scripture; and in bitterness of
spirit exclaimed — " Unstable as water, I cannot
excel. Wasted with misery ; drunk, but not with
wine, my heart is smitten and withered like
grass. I was exalted into Heaven ; I am brought
down to Hell."' These thoughts occupied me
during the remainder of our ride.

When Henry uttered the remark which led to
this train of reflections in my mind, we had reached
the summit of the hill, and coming upon the
wild heath that lay between us and Elmsley, we
put our horses into a rapid canter, and arrived
before the hall door just as it was getting dusk.

138

CHAPTER IV.

— ♦ —

How reverend is the face of this tall pile,

Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads

To bear aloft its arch'd and ponderous roof,

By its own weight made steadfast and immovable —

Looking tranquillity. It strikes an awe

And terror on my aching sight ; the tombs

And monumental caves of death look cold,

And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart.''

" Mourning Bride" — Congreve.

During the ensuing three or four months,
nothing occurred in the course of our daily life, in
any way worth recording. I had spoken to my
aunt of Alice Tracy in such a way as strongly to
excite her interest and curiosity about her, and
from this reason, as well as from the wish to give
me pleasure, which was at all times an all-sufficient
inducement to her, she wrote to her grandmother
to request that if she herself did not feel inclined

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 139

to come to Elmsley, she would at least allow Alice
to come and spend a day with us.

Mrs. Tracy wrote a brief answer to the purport
that Alice was gone away on a visit to some rela-
tions of her father, and was therefore out of reach
of the honour intended her.

My uncle received now and then a letter from
Edward Middleton, but never communicated its
contents beyond the mere facts that he was well,
and was staying in this or that town on the
Continent.

Henry still remained at Elmsley ; and nothing
was changed in the state of things between us.
The only new feature in our domestic affairs, was
the growing dislike which my uncle seemed to
feel towards him. He had never appeared much
to like him, but now he seemed hardly able to
endure his protracted residence at Elmsley, and
often inquired of my aunt and myself, if Henry
did not mean soon to begin the study of the law ;

140 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

which was the profession he was destined to
pursue.

As to Henry himself, he never alluded to it,
and seemed to look upon Elmsley as a permanent
home. My uncle was too much attached to his
wife, and by nature of too kind a disposition, to
mark more plainly, than by occasional hints, his
displeasure at this line of conduct ; but he could
hardly conceal his satisfaction, when, at last, a
letter from his father obliged Henry to take the
subject into consideration.

It became arranged that he should leave Elmsley
in three weeks; and I was surprised, and even
mortified, at observing how little he seemed
grieved or annoyed at this rather abrupt separa-
tion, and with what indifference of manner he
took leave of me on the day of his departure.

A few days afterwards, there arrived a letter
from Mrs. Brandon, a sister of my mother and
of Mr. Middleton, containing an urgent request

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 141

that I might be allowed to spend a few weeks with
her in Dorsetshire.

I had only seen this aunt of mine once or twice
during the course of my childhood ; and she had
left no other impression on my mind than that
she was a short pretty-looking woman, with large
dark eyes, and a peculiarly gentle voice.

I had dreaded so much the void which Henry's
absence would have made in my life, that I wel-
comed with pleasure the idea of entering upon
a new scene. I had also a vague indefinite hope
that far from Elmsley — away from the material
objects which recalled to me continually my fatal
secret — I should, perhaps, shake off, in some
degree, the sense of oppression that weighed upon
me. I was only seventeen, and prematurely
miserable as I was become, still there remained
something in me of the spirit of youth, which
pants after new scenes, new companions, and new
excitements. I therefore expressed a strong wish

142 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

to accept Mrs. Brandon's invitation, and this was,
as usual, enough to secure Mrs. Middleton''s
acquiescence, and my uncle made no objection to
the plan.

Accordingly, on one of the first days of the
month of June, in a small open carriage, accom-
panied by a lady who had once been my governess,
and who had undertaken to escort me to Brandon
Park, I left Elmsley, in tears indeed, for as my
aunt pressed me to her bosom, I returned her
embrace with an intense emotion, that seemed to
resume in itself the history of my past life ; but
still with the eager impatience of the bird who
wildly takes his flight from the perch to which
he is still confined, and hopes, by the keen
impetuosity with which he soars, to shake off
the dead weight which chains him down to
earth. The day was beautiful: white fleecy
clouds were flitting rapidly across the sky;
and the mild breeze that fanned my cheek was

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 143

scented with the perfume of the fields of clover,
through which our road chiefly lay during the
first stage of our journey. The sky, the air, the
smells, the sounds, the rapid motion of the car-
riage, were all sources of the keenest enjoyment.
Fortunately for me, Mrs. Hatton, my traveUing
companion, possessed the qualification of finding
amusement in herself, and by herself, to an ex-
traordinary degree. I have never met with so
thoroughly good-humoured a person. She always
liked best whatever was proposed to her to do,
and never liked at all anything that others were
not incHned to. Whatever happened to be
ordered for dinner, was invariably the thing she
preferred ; but if, by any mischance, it did not
appear, and something else appeared in its stead,
she as suddenly recollected that she liked the
new dish a great deal better than the one that
had failed. Even the weather received at her
hands very different treatment from that which

144 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

it is accustomed to meet with. A black frost
she considered wholesome and bracing ; a cut-
ting east wind, she described as a fresh breeze ;
snow, rain, and hail, had each particular
merits, in her eyes. When the sun shone, it
was fortunate ; when it rained, it was a piece
of luck, for she had ever so many letters to
write ; and there was nothing like a rainy day
for getting through business. And if the weather
was without any other apology, " Still," as I heard
her once say, '' it was better than no weather
at all."

I never heard her admit that anything was a
grievance; that anybody was tiresome. Her
friends' misfortunes, indeed, she felt heartly
sorry for ; but, with respect to them, she
found consolation in the fact, that, in propor-
tion to their extent, she could bestow a fuller
share of sympathy, a more ample measure of
kindness than ever, out of the ever- springing

ELLEN MIDDLETON, 145

sources of tenderness, with which her own heart
overflowed.

Poor Mrs. Hatton ! she was the best of women,
but not the wisest of governesses. During the
years that she superintended my education, she
had never been able to disagree with me, as
to grammar and arithmetic being dull and per-
fectly useless studies ; or help agreeing with
me that Sir Walter Scott*s novels improved
the mind infinitely more than Goldsmith'*s
History of England; and so I read novels to
her, and she listened with delighted attention —
I wrote poetry, which she read aloud, and
declared was the best that had ever been written
— I put aside all the books that bored me,
all the exercises that puzzled me, and she
heartily concurred with me, in pronouncing thera
all highly unprofitable and superfluous.

Dear Mrs. Hatton ! she was not wise ; but such
guileless, warm-hearted lack of wisdom as hers,

VOL- I. H

146 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

often supplied the place of those mental qualifica-
tions which are too seldom united to a perfect
singleness of heart and simplicity of character.

She was, indeed, a capital travelling compa-
nion ; as we passed the gates of Elrasley I said to
her, " Do you know, dear Mrs. Hatton, that I am
apt to be very silent in a carriage; shall you
mind it ? "

" It is the very thing I like best, dear, to drive
along and look about me, and not have the trouble
of talking. The very thing I like best ; there is
nothing so tiring as to talk in a carriage." And
settling herself in her corner, she gave herself up
to looking about her ; and she was right ; for what
in the world is so pleasant, as a living German
authoress says, as " on a fine summer morning
through a lovely country rapidly to fly, like the
bird, that wants nothing of the world but its sur-
face to skim over. This is the really enjoyable
part of travelling. The inn life is wearisome ; the

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 147

passage through towns is fatiguing. The admi-
ration due to the treasures of art, to the wonders
of science, is a task from which one would some-
times gladly buy oneself off, at the price of a day
of wood-cleaving or water-carrying. But to lean
back in perfect quiet in a carriage while it rolls
lightly and easily along a good road ; to have a
variety of pictures pass before one's eyes as in a
dream, each remaining long enough to please, none
long enough to tire; to allow the thoughts that
spring from the magical connexion of ideas to flit
across the mind, in unison with the visible objects
before us ; to be tied down by no earthly cares —
sure to find a meal wherever one stops ; and should
one happen not to find a bed, to have nothing
worse in store than to sleep a la belle etoile, rocked
by the carriage as in a cradle ; ever to hear the
rolhng of the wheels, which, like the murmur of a
brook, the clapping of a mill, or the splash of oars
in the water, forms, by its uniformity, a soothing
H 2

148 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

accompaniment to the everlasting fluctuation of
thought in the mind. This is a bliss which, like
that of love and lovers, genuine travellers alone
believe in ; and, except genuine lovers, there is
nothing more seldom met with in the world than
genuine travellers. For those who travel from
curiosity, from ennui, for health, or for fashion,
or in order to write books, belong not to
them, and know nothing of that intoxicating
repose." *

Such was the enjoyment in which I hoped
Mrs. Hatton found ample compensation for my
silence. She was no doubt a genuine tra-
veller ; for she must have been genuine in every
character she assumed ; though I fear that her
notion of the happiness of not talking, and of
looking about her, would have fallen short of
the German countess's ideal of a traveller's
bliss.

* " Aus die Geselshaft," by the Countess Hahn Hahn.

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 149

After a journey of about eighty miles, at five
o'clock in the evening we reached the town of
Salisbury, where we were to sleep that night. We
ordered dinner at the inn, and I then walked to
the cathedral. I had never seen one before ; and
when I came in sight of its tower, and then of
the whole of its beautiful structure, tears rushed
into my eyes, and I stood entranced in contem-
plation before it. My hands involuntarily clasped
themselves as in prayer, and I longed to fall on my
knees and adore there the God who had given to
man's heart to desire, to his mind to conceive, and
to his hand the power of raising, such shrines for
His worship.

Salisbury Cathedral stands in the middle of a
close, where evergreens and shrubs of all kinds
rise from the smooth green grass that grows quite
up to the foot of its walls. The door was closed ;
but while I sent to procure the key from the
sexton, I walked slowly round the exterior of the

150 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

cathedral, and paused for some minutes in a spot
where, in a recess formed by the angles of the
building, I stood with nothing round me but the
beautiful gothic walls — nothing above me but the
blue sky. It seemed a spot fitted for holy medi-
tation, for heavenly aspiration ; it was a spot that
might have been selected when the Saviour's
visible presence was withdrawn, by that Mary
who chose the good part which was never to be
taken from her. It might have been the resort of
that Hannah who departed not from the Temple
but served the Lord with fastings and with
prayers day and night. It might have been the
chosen retreat of one who, amidst all the blessings
of life, day by day made preparation for the hour
of death. The vision of such a life, of a course of
sacred duties, of holy affections, of usefulness in
life, of resignation in death, of humility in time of
weal, of peace in time of woe ; such a vision passed
before my eyes even then, and my lips murmured :

ELLEN MIDDLETON 151

" Let me die the death of the righteous, and let
my latter end be hke his."

The sexton arrived with the key; and entering
by the great portal door, I wandered for nearly an
hour through the aisles, and lingered in the choir
and in the chapel, though there was scarcely light
to do more than just to trace the outlines of the
masses of columns which rise in severe simplicity,
and arch above one's head at a height which, in
the dimness of the twilight, was scarcely discern-
ible. After having visited the cloisters, and been
so beguiled by their beauty as to forget that dinner
was to be on the table at six o'clock, and that it
was now verging on the half-hour past, I hurried
back to the inn just as the first set of mutton-chops
were coming up the stairs, and had just time to
close Mrs. Hatton's mouth with a kiss as she was
beginning to assure me, in answer to my apologies,
that there was nothing in the world she liked so
much as waiting for dinner.

152 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

The weather had grown close and warm ; and we
were glad, immediately after we had finished eat-
ing, to have the table cleared, and to draw our
chairs to the open bow-window. It commanded a
view all down the street, which at that moment
bore the peculiarly dull and dusty appearance
which streets in provincial towns are apt to present
on a summer's evening. Two or three children
were playing at marbles before one door, and
screaming at each other in that particular key
which games of this description call into exercise.
Now and then a small cart drove by, and a few
people on foot occasionally walked past the window.
The clouds were gathering rapidly over the sky,
and the air was becoming every instant more sultry
and oppressive. Heavy drops of rain began to
fall one by one in large round spots on the dusty
pavement. Red and dark-green umbrellas began
to be unfolded ; the carts to drive by more briskly ;
the marble players to withdraw into the house

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 153

after sundry vociferations from some neighbouring
window; and the whole scene fairly assumed the
hopeless character of a rainy summer's evening.
Meantime two men had stationed themselves under
the projecting roof of our inn at the outset of the
shower, and kept up between themselves a con-
versation, of which a few words occasionally
reached my ears. One of the speakers was a man
seemingly of fifty or thereabouts, of a heavy, dull
character of countenance; his dress that of a
tradesman, not of the better sort. The other was
a young man who would have been handsome had
it not been for a scowl which disfigured his other-
wise well-shaped features. The oldest of the two
men said to the other, apparently in answer to
some inquiry, " Not till the old un dies, which he
will soon."

" Is he as bad as that comes to ? " returned the
other. A cart rumbled by at that moment, and
1 heard nothing more, and would have probably
h3

154 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

left the window had not the next words that were
spoken arrested my attention.

" So Alice is here?" observed the youngest of
the two speakers.

" And are you still after that ere spec ? " was
the answer.

I immediately identified the Alice they were
speaking of with Alice Tracy, and I could not
help listening on with the wish to hear something
that would corroborate or destroy this idea.

"She '11 never have you, take my word for it,"
continued the same man.

" May be not, while the gemman 's a-courting
her ; but he 's after other game, I take it, now."

" I seed him here, with my own eyes, not four
days ago," said the first speaker. — " Old mother
Tracy has him in her clutches, I '11 warrant you.
She didn't come down with the shiners for
nothing."

" He 's a limb of Satan ; and if he were the

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 155

devil himself I 'd tear his eyes out first," retorted
the younger man with a fearful volley of oaths.

" And he 'd snap his fingers at you, and give
you into a policeman's charge. That 's no go, my
hearty *"

"But if the old un is dying, as you say, and
the lass comes in for the cash, he '11 not be such a
d— dfool "

" Ay, ay ; but mother Tracy, with the bit of
paper you know of, would prove an awkward
customer for that ere chap ! But I '11 tell ye, my
lad, — ^you 've but one chance "

Here the speaker's voice sunk into a whisper,
and I did not catch another word. The two men
soon took a reconnoitring glance at the weather;
and after looking up the street and down the street,
and up at the sky, where nothing was visible but
a thick mass of gray clouds, they seemed to awake
to the thorough hopelessness of the case, and
walked off, muttering imprecations on the weather.

156 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

I remained by the window absorbed in thought,
till Mrs. Hatton apprised me that tea was come.
There was, indeed, matter for thought in the few
words these men had uttered; and the thoughts
they suggested were perplexing in the extreme.
It was of Alice Tracy they had spoken, for I had
twice distinctly heard her grandmother's name
pronounced. She was in Salisbury at this very
moment, it appeared ; these two rough and some-
what discreditable men were acquainted with her.
A gentleman (to use their own expression) was
after her ; but the youngest man of the two had
expressed a hope that he was at present devoting
himself to some other person. Could this gentle-
man be Henry Lovell ? Had he been base, vile
enough to attempt the ruin of the lovely girl whose
beauty and innocence had seemed to me to belong
to a higher sphere than that of this world of ours?
Was his devotion to me, what was alluded to in
the conversation I had overheard ? Who was the

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 157

person whose death they seemed to expect? I
was lost in a maze of doubts and conjectures ;
among which the most distressing was the one
that presented to my mind the idea of Alice be-
coming a victim to the infamous pursuit of Henry
Lovell. But again, what could they mean by his
(the gentleman, whoever he was,) being in Mrs.
Tracy's clutches? I vainly racked my brain to
form some conjecture which would account for the
different parts of this short conversation. Poor
Mrs. Hatton must have thought me apt to be
silent, not only in a carriage, but out of one, too,
if she judged by my taciturnity on this occasion.
When the waiter came in to fetch the tea-things
away, I asked him if he knew of any person living
in Salisbury, and bearing the name of Tracy?
He did not know of any such, he said, but would
inquire if I wished. As he was going out of the
room, he turned back, and holding the handle of the
door with one hand, and passing the other through

158 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

a bushy head of hair, he added : " I suppose it 's
quality you are asking for, ma'am ? "

" No ; any persons of that name : do you know
any?''

" There 's an old Miss Tracy, ma'am, lives in
the next street here ; she was sister to the grocer
that died two years ago."

" Do you happen to know if she has had any
relations staying with her lately ? "

" I think she has, ma'am ; for she hired a bed,
a chair, and a table, some three months ago, of my
brother, who lets out furniture ; and she 'd not go
to expense for nothing : her late brother's money
is safe enough in her keeping."

As I still looked interested in the subject of
Miss Tracy's expenses, the waiter, who was
evidently of a communicative turn of mind, closed
the door and came back to the table to wipe oif
some nearly imperceptible crumbs that were lying
on the smooth, bright mahogany.

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 159

" It was a curious thing enough, ma'am," he
resumed; "nobody in the wide world knowing

that the grocer in street, — Old Tracy, as he

was called, — had scraped together thirty thousand
pounds, and never had been the better for it while
he lived."

" Nor when he died," I thought to myself ; and
inquired if the whole of that sum had been left to
the lady who certainly would not go to expense
for nothing?

" No, only half, ma*am," was the answer, "fifteen
thousand pounds in hard cash her brother left her ;
but it is not many folk in Salisbury that have seen
the colour of her money. She '11 keep adding on
to it as long as she lives."

" And where did the other fifteen thousand
pounds go ? " I asked.

"They was lodged in some Lunnon banker's
hands, ma^am, I fancy. It 's said he left that
other half of his money to some relations that
lived thereabouts, but I can't tell for sure."

160 ELLEN MIDDLETON

I longed to ask him, if he knew what kind
of people had been staying with Miss Tracy,
and to find out, if possible, if it was Alice, and
whether she was still in Salisbury ; but I
felt ashamed of questioning on, and, during the
pause that ensued, ray informant gave one more
general polishing to the table, pushed one or two
chairs out of their places, poked the fire which did
not want poking, and with a side bow left the
room. My curiosity was so strongly excited, that
I could not refrain from asking Mrs. Hatton if she
knew anything of the Mrs. Tracy, who, in old
times, had been my aunt's maid, but she had never
seen her, and could give me no information on the
subject. We were to start the next morning at
nine o'clock, and I resolved to make an effort to
satisfy myself as to the state of the case by calling
at Miss Tracy's door before setting off*. At eight
o'clock accordingly, having ascertained from my
friend, the waiter, the name of the street and the
number of the house, I set out, and as I approached

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 161

it, my heart beat with a strange mixture of shy-
ness, anxiety, and curiosity. I pulled the bell,
and was almost tempted to run away when I heard
some one walking heavily to the door to open it.
It opened however before I had made up my mind
to bolt, and I asked the slip-shod, red-faced girl
who appeared, whether Miss Tracy lived there?

" Yes, she does (was the answer). What 's your
will, miss?"

"Is Miss Ahce Tracy staying with her ? "

" Yes, she is."

"Is she at home?"

" No she aint, she 's in church, but her grand-
mother 's at home."

I did not feel courage enough to renew my
acquaintance with Mrs. Tracy, whose reception of
me at Bridman Cottage I well remembered, and
whose forbidding countenance had remained
strongly impressed on my recollection. I there-
fore drew a bit of paper from my pocket, and

IDZ ELLEN MIDDLETON.

hastily writing my name upon it, I was just
handing it to the girl, when it struck me that it
was possible, that, after all, there might be two
AHce Tracys in the world, and that I had better
not leave my name at a venture. I therefore tore
off the bit of writing, and on the remaining slip of
paper I drew a passion flower, and requested the
girl to give it to Miss Alice Tracy when she came
home.

" But what *s your name, ma'am ? "" she inquired.

" Never mind it," I replied. " Miss Alice will
know it immediately, if she is my Miss Alice, and
if she is not, it does not signify," and I walked off,
leaving the puzzled portress with her mouth wide
open, my sketch in her hand, and her intellect
evidently employed in balancing the probabilities
as to the sanity of mine.

The britschka was at the door when I got back
to the inn, and Mrs. Hatton with her veil down, and
her boa round her neck, was waiting for me in the

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 163

little sitting room. We hastened into the carriage
and rattled off through the streets of Salisbury,
and were soon after ascending at a slow pace the
hill that lies on the west side of the town. After
a few hours of uninteresting driving along the high
road, we turned into a lane which brought us at
once into a new kind of scenery, quite different
from any that I had yet been acquainted with. On
either side of us rose, in gentle acclivities, a bound-
less extent of down, diversified by large patches
of gorse, tall clumps of broom, shining in all the
gorgeous beauty of their yellow flowers, and spread-
ing beds of fern, that loveliest of leaves, as beau-
tiful in its form, and almost as architectural in its
natural symmetry, as the more classical acanthus.

As we advanced into the very heart of the
country, the character of the scenery changed, and
became of a more woodland description. Hedges
on both sides of the road bounded our view, but
there was ample compensation for this in these

164 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

delicious hedges themselves, in which hawthorn
stood out in sturdy independence from among
the intricacies of shrubs and brambles, that
imprisoned their stems, while they scattered their
snowy blossoms on the shining leaves and green
patches of grass beneath them ; in which the frail
but daring eglantine twined its weak tendrils
round the withered trunk of some hollow, worn-
out oak ; in which the wild clematis and the
feathery traveller's-joy, as children love to call it,
flung their fairy flowers in reckless profusion
over the tangled mass from whence they sprung.
There was enough in these hedges to make up
for the loss of views; but we had views too,
when, for a moment, a gate, a stile, a gap in the
hedge itself, opened to us glimpses of such woods
and dells as we read of in the Midsummer
Night's Dream.

We reached Brandon at four o'clock. It stands in
the midst of what was formerly a chase of immense

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 165

extent, and which now forms a park of extra-
ordinary size, and of singular beauty. The hand
of man seems to have done but little to improve
that beauty: the house stands as if by chance
in the midst of a wilderness of downy hills and
grassy valleys, of hawthorn groves, and wild
commons, of remnants of forests, and miles of
underwood. I was so engrossed by the strange
character of this, to me, perfectly novel scenery,
that I thought little of anything else as we drove
up to the house: and when on reaching the
entrance door, the servants rushed to let down
the step, and seize upon the luggage, I felt taken
by surprise ; rousing myself, I took an affectionate
leave of Mrs. Hatton, who was proceeding to her

own home in the town of , about ten miles

beyond Brandon, and we did not part without
my promising her, that, if I could possibly
contrive it, I vi^ould visit her there before I left
Dorsetshire.

166

CHAPTER V.

But ever and anon of griefs subdued,
There comes a token like a scorpion's sting,

Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued ;
And slight withal may be the things which bring
Back on the heart the weight which it would fling

Aside for ever. Lord Byron.

On inquiry, I found that my aunt was out, and
as I was not acquainted with a single person
staying in the house, I begged to be shown at
once to my room, instead of going into the library,
where I was told some of the company were to be
found. The housekeeper led the way up stairs,
and having established me in a large and very
comfortable room, left me to myself. I sat down
in an armchair, and except the occupation, if it
can be so called, of watching my maid, while she

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 167

unpacked the different parts of my evening dress,
I spent the next hour in complete idleness.

At the end of that time, the rolling of wheels
and the clatter of horses' feet, drew me to the
window. I was pleased to have an opportunity
of inspecting some part of the society which I
was so soon to be introduced to. First, there
stopped at the hall door a pony-chaise, from
which Mrs. Brandon and another woman got out ;
behind them sat an elderly man, tall and dark,
not Mr. Brandon, though (as far as I recollected)
like him : behind them came galloping up to the
steps a riding party, two women and three or
four men ; among them, was Henry Lovell, who
was certainly about the last person I should have
expected to meet. He looked in high spirits, and
I heard him calling out to somebody in the house,
" Is she come?" and two or three minutes after-
wards, Mrs. Brandon and he came into my room
together.

168 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

She kissed me most affectionately, and keeping
both my hands in hers, and diminishing at the
same time her beautiful eyes into the sharpest,
but most caressante expression (I know no English
word which expresses the look I mean), she
fixed them on mine and said, '* I am so much
obliged to you, Henry, and to you for coming,
dearest Ellen ; but I ought to thank him first, for
he taught me to wish to know you, and to love you.
It is not a hard lesson," — she added, in the sweetest
tone of voice imaginable. I tried to smile and
look pleased, but I was out of sorts, though I could
hardly tell exactly why. If I had heard at
Elmsley, that I was to have met Henry at
Brandon, I should have probably been glad, but
somehow my short journey had put me into a
different state of mind. I had been more free
from painful thoughts, immediately connected with
myself at least, than at any time for a good while
past ; I had felt an unconscious relief in seeing

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 169

new faces, and hearing new voices; I longed to
feel unwatched, unnoticed. Then the conversation
I had heard between the two men at Salisbury
had left a disagreeable impression upon my mind,
although [too vague to influence my judgment.
Then again, why, if Mrs. Brandon's wish to see
me, and her consequent invitation, were the result
of his praises, had he not talked to me of her ?
Why had he not said he should meet me at her
house ? Obliged, alas ! as I was myself by my
miserable fate, to practise constant dissimulation,
I still hated it strangely in others, and I felt aware
that I answered Mrs. Brandon ungraciously, and
greeted Henry coldly. As usual, he was perfectly
self-possessed, but soon withdrew, leaving me
alone with Mrs. Brandon.

" Do let us sit down here together, dearest Ellen,"
said she, drawing me to a couch as she spoke ;
" I do so long to be well acquainted with you,
and I feel to know so well all about you, we shall

VOL. I. I

170 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

be great friends soon, I am sure." And she
again squeezed my hands, and looked into my
eyes with that pretty but over-confidential look
in hers.

We talked about my uncle and aunt, on which
she said, " Was not dear Mrs. Middleton a little
angry with me for seducing you away from
Elmsley ? But I fancy she is in the secret ; is
not she ? "

" She was much pleased at your kindness in
wishing to see me," I answered; quite puzzled as
to what the secret she alluded to could be.

"And now, dear Ellen," she continued, "you
must treat me quite like a sister, like a friend,
not as an old aunt, or I shall be affronted, and
very jealous of Mrs. Middleton. You must speak
to me quite openly."

" You are so very kind,*" I said, while all the
time I thought, " What on earth are you at ? "
The idea of her being jealous of my affection for

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 171

Mrs. Middleton struck me as perfectly ridicu-
lous, and the very fact of being requested to
speak openly, effectually inclined me to shut
myself up, in an additional amount of reserve.
I tried, however, to be amiable and warm ; and
after a little more conversation, Mrs. Brandon
left me, to go and dress for dinner.

A few minutes after the bell had rung, I went
down to the library, and found nearly everybody
assembled. I went through a number of intro-
ductions. The women that I made acquaintance
with were Lady Wyndham, Mrs. Ernsley, Miss
Moore, and two Miss Farnleys. The men were
standing together in the middle of the room, but
except Mr. Brandon (who immediately came to
me and made a number of civil speeches) ; none
of them approached us before dinner was announced.
Sir Charles Wyndham then took me in.

Just as we were sitting down, Mrs. Brandon
called to Mr. Ernsley, who was preparing to place
I 2

172 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

himself in the chair on the other side of me;
" Dear Mr. Ernsley, won't you come and sit by
me? I do so long to hear what you think of
Meldon Hall, which I am told you went to see
to-day." And as he obeyed her directions, Henry
Lovell slipped into the chair by my side, which
accounted to me for the look of intelligence
which Mrs. Brandon directed to our part of the
table, to which he perhaps responded, but to
which I certainly did not. I was not sorry,
however, to have an opportunity of speaking to
him, as I felt curious to know how he would
account for his sudden change of plans, and I
wished also to find out if he had been at Salisbury
during the last few days.

He immediately said to me, " Are you surprised
at seeing me here ? "

" As much,**' I rephed, " as to find that it is to
you I am indebted for being invited here at all."

" And if it was so, would it affront you l "

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 173

" It would not be particularly flattering."

" You would think it more flattering, would you,
that a woman, who has only seen you once, and that
seven years ago, should wish to see you again, than
that I (and here he spoke in the lowest possible
whisper), after such days, such months, as I spent
at Elmslev, should have strained every nerve not
to lose sight of you."

" Then this has been a scheme of your forming?
I hate scheming."

" I was in London ; I detested it, and I came
here; but I wish to God I had not! (he added,
with more of passion than of tenderness in his voice;)
for my coming is evidently disagreeable to you, and
I cannot brook the coldness of your manner (he
continued, in a still increasing tone of agitation).
It puts me beside myself, Ellen, and makes a fool
of me, which is of all things what I most dislike to
be made.'^

" What is it you most dislike to be made,

174 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

Mr. LovelU" inquired Sir Charles Wyndham,
who had been restless and fidgetty, till he could
catch at something in our conversation, which
would enable him to join in it.

" A fool, Sir Charles," answered Henry, with
an expression of countenance, which certainly did
not bear in it any consciousness of his own folly.

" The ladies make fools of us all,"" said Sir
Charles, with a bow to me.

" Unless they find us ready made," I heard
Henry mutter, while I was obliged to turn round
and listen to a string of compliments, and a flow
of small talk from my right hand neighbour, which
it seemed as if nothing would stop but some
lucky accident, some sudden overthrow of the
regular course of things, so steady and even was
the tenor of its gentle prolixity. He had an eye,
the mildness of which was appalling, and a smile
of despairing sweetness. As I looked at him, I
wished (which had never happened to me to wish

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 175

before in looking at anybody's face) that he had
been very ugly ; no ugly face could have been so
hopelessly tiresome. If but for a moment he could
have looked cross or ill-natured, it would have
been the making of him, or rather of me, for then
I should have had courage to cut his discourse
short, and turn away ; but as it was, dinner was
nearly over before I had another opportunity of
speaking to Henry, who at last brought about the
event I had pined for, by overturning a pyramid
of red and white cherries, whicli went rolling all
over the table in different directions, and for
a moment engrossed Sir Charles's benevolent
exertions. Henry immediately seized on the
favourable moment, and resumed our conversation,
though in an altered tone.

" The fact is, dear Ellen, that, on my arrival
in London, I found my solicitor out of town, and
my father gone on a visit to some friends of his
in Hertfordshire. I have a general invitation to

J 76 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

this place; and it struck me (I was wrong perhaps)
that it might be, as well as a gratification to myself,
a comfort to you, among a set of strangers, to
find a friend; and I suppose I may call myself
one/'

He said all this in such a gentle, earnest manner,
and in fact the thought had been such a kind one,
that I felt quite ashamed of myself; and in the
reaction of the moment, I turned to him with some
emotion, and said,

" You are very kind to me, Henry, and it
grieves me to think that I must have appeared
to you ungracious — ungrateful even."

" Only a little capricious," he answered ; " and
should I prize as much that bright smile of yours,
Ellen, if the transient cloud had not made its
brightness still dearer ? "

At this moment Mrs. Brandon gave the signal
for withdrawal. Henry whispered to me, as I was
looking for my gloves under the table,

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 177

" Now that I have explained my being here,
at the expense of a fearful havoc among Mr.
Brandon's cherries, I shall be at leisure, when we
come to the drawing-room, to give you my opinion
of the society here; pray do not make up your
mind about anybody till I come."

I left the dining-room in better humour than
when I went in, and sat down with the two
Miss Farnleys, at a round table covered with
annuals and albums. We entered into conversa-
tion, and got on (as the phrase is) very well. They
were both nice-looking girls; the eldest was hand-
some. It was not difficult to comply with Henry's
request, that I should not make up my mind
about any one till he had given me his opinion ;
for a whole quarter of an hour had not elapsed
before he made his appearance in the drawing-
room, and instantly came and sat down on the
couch by me. Lady Wyndham at that moment
begged the eldest Miss Farnley to come and give
i3

178 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

her advice about some pattern or stitch that she
was employed upon, and the youngest went to
the open window to speak to Mrs. Brandon and
to Mrs. Ernsley, who were walking up and down
the gravel walk near the house.

" How do you like your aunt, Ellen ? "

" Don't call her my aunt ; that is a name sacred
to me. I cannot call any one but your sister, my
aunt."

" Well, Mrs. Brandon, then ; how do you like
her?"

^' I thought I was not to make up my mind
about any one without your assistance ? "

" True, but I did not include her ; she is an
old friend of mine, and I might be partial."

" There would be no harm in Massing me in
her favour. I ought to like her, and I 'm afraid
I don't."

<' Don't you ? " said Henry, in a tone of so much
annoyance and mortification, that I looked at him

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 179

with surprise. '* You will like her," he added,
" when you know her."

" But when did you see so much of her ? And
if she is such a friend of yours, why did you never
talk to me of her?"

He did not answer immediately, and I went on.

" But you are very mysterious about all your
acquaintances ; for instance, you know how de-
lighted I was with Alice Tracy."

I was obliged to summon up all my courage to
pronounce her name ; how often does one feel that
there are subjects which become forbidden ones
between people with whom in general there
exists no reserve, and which, by some strange
instinct, one cannot touch upon without emotion,
though nothing reasonable can be alleged to account
for it. He started, and his countenance instan-
taneously clouded over ; but I went on with a
kind of cowardly courage.

" And yet, I dare say, you have seen her, or

180 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

heard something about her since our visit to
Bridman Manor, and have never told me/'

" I have not seen her."

" Where is she now?" I persisted, feeling that
if I let the subject drop, it would require a fresh
effort to resume it again.

" I don't know."

" Is she likely to be staying at Salisbury ? "

" At Salisbury ? "

'' Yes, there are some people of that name
living there. I called at the house early this
morning, and asked for Alice. She was out, but if
I knew that she was staying on there, nothing would
be easier than to go and pay her a visit one morning
from hence, and I should like it of all things."

" Ellen," said Henry, " you cannot go on
seeing Alice, or have anything to do with any
of that family. You are quite a child, and child-
ishly headstrong I well know, but I really must
insist upon this."

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 181

" I do not exactly see the right that you have
to insist upon my doing or my not doing anything ;
but, at least, give me some good reason for this
dictation."

" They are people with whom you cannot
with propriety associate ; at your age you can be
no judge of such things."

" It was my aunt who sent me to them, in the
first instance ; consequently, she can know nothing
against Mrs. Tracy ; and, as to Ahce, you cannot
mean that she — unless — ""

I stopped short ; my heart was beating violently.
I felt that modesty, propriety, dignity, forbade
my hinting at my suspicions ; but they were
rushing again on my mind with fresh force ; and
as I looked at Henry, I felt that my cheeks were
burning, and my eyes flashing.

" No," he said, as if he had not remarked my
agitation, or else that it had calmed his. " No ;
Alice's character is perfectly good ; but, in visiting

]82 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

her, you would be liable to fall in with persons
whom it would be in every way unpleasant to
be thrown amongst."

I remembered the two men at Salisbury, and
felt this might be true; there was something so
plain, and indifferent, too, in his manner of doing
justice to Alice, that it removed my suspicions;
and when he said,

" Well, now, for heaven's sake, let us leave
off talking on a subject on which it seems we are
always destined to quarrel."

I smiled, and made no effort to pursue it
farther, but listened to his account of the society
at Brandon.

" Lady Wyndham (he said) is as you can see
in looks, the very reverse of her husband — quite
guiltless of his insipid comeliness. I have never
found out anything beyond that ; for she is as
stern and as silent as he is communicative, per-
haps on the system of compensation, and from a
strict sense of justice to society."

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 183

" And the Miss Farnleys (I said) we have just
made acquaintance; but I am quite disposed to
like or dislike them, according to the report you
make of them.'*

" The Miss Farnleys (he repHed) have been
brought up almost entirely abroad, and are, per-
haps, not spoilt, but certainly fashioned by this
circumstance. The oldest is not the least affected
in manner, nor indeed in conversation, except that
one is willing to attribute to affectation the very
silly things which an otherwise intelligent person
is in the habit of saying."

" What kind of things ?"

" Why, for instance, she will tell you that
she cannot exist without flowers, and therefore
keeps loads of them in : her room at night,
though they give her a raging headache. But
don't think her silly (though it is difiicult to
help it, I own), for this very girl, when she broke
her arm last year, submitted to the most painful

184 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

operation without a groan, in order that her
father, who was ill at the time, should not be
agitated or alarmed, though, when he left the
room, she fainted from the intensity of agony.
Do not think her wicked, if she tells you that she
pines to be overturned in a carriage, or to be
wrecked at sea; if she boasts that she throws
out of window the medicines that are prescribed
for her, or that she swallows poison, to try how
she feels after it ; for she risked her life a few
months ago to save a drowning child ; and when
the village near their country place was on fire,
she went about among the distracted people like
an angel of mercy. Do not, therefore, think her
silly, wicked, or mad, whatever she may say to
you, but only wonder where she learnt that to
seem so was a charm."

" And her sister, that girl with a Grecian pro-
file and straight eyebrows ? "

" That girl, who sometimes is hardly pretty,

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 185

and at other times perfectly beautiful, is very
clever, though she too says silly things now and
then, but quite in a different line. She is original
and agreeable, though she lisps and drawls, till
the spirit within her is roused. She is very
provoking if you dislike her; still more so, per-
haps, if you Ake her. In short, I hardly know
which to recommend you to do; only, I am
sure if you do like her, you will like her very
much, and will better spare a better woman —
Lady Wyndham, for instance."

"And that little Miss Moore, who is sitting
over her book with a look of such intense enjoy-
ment in her large eyes, what account do you give
of her?"

" Oh, everybody doats upon the little Irish
girl ; nobody can tell exactly why. It is, I sup-
pose, because her eyes speak to you whether her
tongue does or not. It is because she unites the
most contrary extremes, and leaves you to puzzle

186 ELLEN MIDDLBTON.

over them ; because she sails into the room, with
her little stately manner, and salutes you with a
formal curtsey ; and then, under all this air of
dignity, you discover the very merriest-hearted little
romp that ever existed. You must be fond of her.
As refined in mind and in manner, as the most
fastidious could require, she has, at the same time,
the humour, the native fun, of her country — it
sparkles in her eyes — it bubbles in her laugh.
She is a little patriot too : when Ireland is men-
tioned, you will see her cheek flush, and her spirit
rise. It is the only strong feeling she seems to
have; for, otherwise, like the jolly miller of Dee,
she cares for nobody, and if others care for her,
she does not appear to thank them for it.
I have often heard men say, how in love they
would be with Rosa Moore, if it were not for
this thankless, hopeless, remorseless indifference.
Now, I think this is a mistake; for I beheve
her great charm really lies in that very reck-

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 187

lessness of what others think of her, or feel for
her, in the eager, child-like impetuosity with which
she seeks amusement, and in the perfect self-
possession with which she treats everything and
everybody."

" And Mrs. Ernsley, Henry ; what do you say
of her ? "

" Mrs. Ernsley ? It is much more difficult to
say what she is, than what she is not ; so allow
me to describe her in negatives. She is not hand-
some, for her features are bad, and her complexion
is sallow. She is not plain, for she has pretty
eyes, pretty hair, a pretty smile, and a pretty
figure. She is not natural, for her part in society
is pre-arranged and continually studied. She is
not affected, for nobody talks to you with more
earnestness, or more of natural impulse and spon-
taneousness; but still, she is always listening to
herself. She is the person who is attracting, who
is charming you, natural to a fault, unguarded to

188

ELLEN MIDDLETON.

excess (she says to herself). Then, she is not a
bad sort of woman ; she has a great regard for
her husband, and takes great pains with her
little girls; but she is always playing with
edged tools; she is always lingering on the line
of demarcation. She is eternally discussing who are
in love with her — though she is such a very good
sort of a woman — and who would be in love with
her if she was not? Above all, she is by no
means partial to other women, whether they have
stepped over the line, or kept within it. She
will hate you, Ellen, depend upon it, with an
innocent kind of hatred : she will do you no harm,
for she is kind-hearted in reality ; only it will
be nuts to her if anybody says that Miss Mid-
dleton is not near so pretty as they had expected ;
and she will try to put you down whenever you
open your mouth ; but don't be put down, and
then you will remain mistress of the field, for she
will grow so fidgetty, (not cross, for she is, in fact,

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 189

good-tempered,) that she will lose her self-possession,
and then all will be over with her.""

" I have not the slightest wish to enter the
lists with her. But now, tell me something of
the men who are here ? ""

*'That will be quickly done;— Sir Charles is
a fool ; Mr. Ernsley is a prig ; and Mr. Farnley
has a broad kind of humour, and a talent for
mimicry, but he is coarse and unrefined, which,
by the way, is, perhaps, the reason that his
daughter thinks it necessary to be so painfully
the reverse. Mr. Brandon, your aunt's brother-
in-law, is an agreeable man. Mr. Manby is a
lout."

"And Sir Edmund Ardern?" I inquired.

" Oh, as to Sir Edmund Ardern, I entreat you,
on the same principle on which pastry-cooks cram
their apprentices during the first few days, to
talk to him incessantly. Let him sit by you to-
morrow at breakfast, at luncheon, at dinner, walk

190 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

with him, and ride with him ; I shall not come
near you, in order that he may have full scope
for his fascinating powers ; you shall be fascinated
till you cry for mercy/'

I laughed, but secretly thought that something
of the severity of his satire proceeded from the
fact, that Sir Edmund was the only handsome
and pleasing person in the house, and I did not
feel inclined to take entirely for granted, that
Henry's judgment of him was correct.

Our tete-a-tete was soon interrupted by the
entrance of Mrs. Ernsley, and the arrival of tea.
Mrs. Ernsley threw herself into a large arm-chair,
flung her bonnet and shawl on the opposite couch,
and then began arranging her hair.

" You look tired, Mrs. Ernsley," said Henry.

" To death,'' she answered. "Dear Mrs. Brandon
has been wondering whether the stars are inhabited
or not. It is not fair to make one stretch out
one's mind so far."

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 191

" What did Sir Edmund pronounce on the
subject ?" inquired Henry.

"That there was much to be said on both sides
of the question. I left them at that point."

" Do you like Sir Edmund .?"

" I wish you would not ask me.*"

"Why?"

" Because he hates me, and I won't own to a
passion malheureuse. He nearly overturned poor
Mr. Farnley to-day at dinner, in trying to avoid
the chair next me."

" Oh, no ; it was in trying to get the one next
Miss Middleton," observed Rosa Moore, with an
innocent expression of countenance.

Mrs. Ernsley continued without noticing the
interruption, otherwise than by a downward
movement of the corners of her mouth — " I had
a thousand times rather be hated by him, than
be liked in the way in which he seems to like
any one, qui lui tombe sous la main," ^

192 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

" No doubt," said Henry ; *' next to being
loved there is nothing like being hated."

" You think so too, then ?" said Mrs. Ernsley.

" Certainly," he replied. " It gratifies one of
the strongest tastes, or rather passions, of one's
nature ; that of feeling emotion onesself, and
exciting it in others. If I could not see the
woman I loved agitated by her love for me, I
had rather see her tremble, shudder even at
my presence, than look as if Mr. Manby had come
into the room."

" What a detestable lover you would make ! "
exclaimed Mrs. Ernsley. " Always, by your own
admission, on the verge of hatred."

He laughed, and said, " It is an old saying, that
love and hatred are closely allied."

" Not more so than hatred and contempt," I
said ; " and in incurring the one, one might,
perhaps, gain the other."

Both my companions looked at me with sur-

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 193

prise, for I had not joined before in their con-
versation, and a secret feeling (I was aware of it)
had given a shade of bitterness to my manner
of saying it.

Mrs. Ernsley seemed to take the remark as
personal to herself; but said good-humouredly,
though somewhat sneeringly, " Since Miss Mid-
dleton has pronounced so decided an opinion, we
had better drop the subject. What is become
of Edward Middleton, Mr. Lovell?"

" He has been abroad for some months," replied
Henry ; and Sir Edmund Ardern, who at that
moment joined us, said, " The last time I saw
him was at Naples last February; we had just
made an excursion into the mountains of Calabria
together."

" A very unromantic one, no doubt/' said
Mrs. Ernsley, "as everything is in our unroman-
tic days. Not a trace of a brigand or of an
adventure I suppose.?"

VOL. I. K

194 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

" None that we were concerned in. But we saw
an ex-brigand, and he told us his adventures."

"Did he really?" exclaimed Miss Farnley;
" and was he not adorable ? "

" Not exactly,'' said Sir Edmund with a smile ;
" but some of his accounts were interesting."

" Was he fierce?"

" No, not the least. I fancy he had followed
that line in his younger days, more because his
father and his brother were brigands, than from
any inclination of his own. One of the stories he
told us struck Middleton and myself in a very
different manner."

" What was it ? " I asked, unable to restrain
my anxious curiosity.

" I am afraid you may think it long,'' said
Sir Edmund ; " but if you are to decide the
point in question you must have patience to hear
the story : —

" Lorenzo, that was our friend's name, had

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 195

been engaged in several skirmishes with the Gen-
darmerie, that had been sent into the mountains
to arrest the gang to which he belonged ; he was
known by sight, and had once or twice narrowly
escaped being seized. He had a personal enemy
among the gendarmes — a man called Giacomo,
whose jealousy he had excited some years previ-
ously at a country fair. They had quarrelled
about a girl whom both were making love to.
Lorenzo had struck him, and Giacomo had not
returned the blow before they were separated,
and his rival safe in the mountains beyond the
reach of his vengeance. He brooded over this
recollection for several years ; and when he found
himself, at last, officially in pursuit of his enemy,
he followed him as a hungry beast tracks his prey.
One evening, with two or three of his men, he
had dodged him for several hours. Lorenzo had
made with incredible speed for a spot where,
between the fissures of the rock, he knew of a
k2

196 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

secret passage by which he could elude the pur-
suit, and place himself in safety. He strained
every nerve to turn the corner before his pursuers
could be upon him, and mark the place where he
disappeared. Between him and that corner, there
was now nothing left but a slight wooden bridge
thrown over a precipice. As he was rushing
across it, Giacomo, with the instinctive feeling
that his enemy was escaping him, by one tre-
mendous leap from the top of the rock which
overhung the bridge, reached it at the same
moment. The shock broke to pieces the frail
support ; the hand-rail alone did not give way,
and to this, by their hands alone, the two men
clung. They were close to each other — they
looked into each other's faces — neither could move.
Lorenzo's eyes were glazed with terror ; Giacomo's
glared with fury; he was nearest the edge, his
men were in sight, and he called to them hoarsely.
Lorenzo gave himself up for lost. At that

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 197

moment, above their heads, on the edge of the
rock, something moved — both looked up. A blow,
a tremendous blow, fell on Giacomo's head ; his
features grew distorted, they quivered in agony —
a yell of torture escaped him : another blow, and
his brains flew upon the face and hands of his foe.
A mist seemed to cover Lorenzo's eyes ; but he felt
something stretched out to him — he clung to it
instinctively, he scrambled, he darted into the
cavern, he fainted, but he was safe."

" And who had saved him ? " we all exclaimed.
" Amina, a girl whom he was courting,
and by whom he was beloved. She was
carrying home to her father, a large sledge-
hammer which he had lent to a neighbour.
Passing alone through that wild region, she saw
the desperate situation of the two men, recognised
her lover struggling with the gendarme, heard
the shouts of the latter to his comrades, and rushed
to the spot."

198 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

" A brave girl," exclaimed Henry.

" How did the romance end ? " asked Mrs.
Ernsley.

" Ah ! there 's the point," said Sir Edmund.
" I asked Lorenzo if he did not love the girl
twice as much since her gallant conduct. ' I was
very grateful to her,' he answered, ' but I was no
longer in love with her.' I exclaimed in astonish-
ment, but he persisted ; it was very odd certainly,
she had saved his life, and he would have done
anything to serve her ; ' But you know, gentle-
men/ he added, 'one cannot help being in love,
or not being in love; and when I looked at
Amina's black eyes, I could not help shuddering,
for I remembered the look they had, when she
gave Giacomo that last blow, and it was not
pleasant, and in short I could not be in love with
her, and there was an end of it."'

"And is it possible," exclaimed Mrs. Ernsley,
" that he was so ungrateful as to forsake her ?"

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 199

" No ; he told me he would have married
her, if she had wished it, but she did not ;
' Perhaps,' he said, ' she saw I was no longer
in love with her ; but she did not seem to care
much, and there was an end of it/ as he said
before. Now I own I cannot understand the
fellow's feeling ; if anybody had saved my life,
as Amina saved his, I really believe I should
have fallen in love with her, had she been old
and ugly: but a handsome girl, whom he was
in love with before, that she should lose his
heart, in consequence of the very act for which
he should have adored her, passes, I confess,
my comprehension. But Edward Middleton disa-
greed with me; he thought it perfectly natural.
' It was hard upon her,' he said, ' and could not
be defended on the ground of reason ; but there
were instincts, impulses, more powerful than
reason itself; and unjust and cruel as it might
seem, he could not wonder at the change in
Lorenzo's feelings.' "

200 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

"How Strange!" said Henry Lovell; "how
like Edwardj too; though not quite so moral
and just, as he generally piques himself upon
being."

"Ay," said Sir Edmund, "I must do him
the justice to say, that he added, ' Had I been
Lorenzo, I should have felt myself bound to
devote my life to Amina, to have made her happy
at the expense of my own happiness; but there
is, to me, something so dreadful in life destroyed,
in death dealt by the hand of a woman, under any
circumstances whatever "

As Sir Edmund was saying these last words,
I felt the sick faint sensation that had been
coming over me during the last few minutes,
suddenly increase, and he was interrupted by
Mrs. Ernsley exclaiming, *' Good heavens, Miss
Middleton, how pale you look ! are you ill ? "

Mrs. Brandon, who heard her, rushed to me ;
by a strong effort, I recovered myself, swallowed

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 201

the glass of water she brought, and walked to the
piano-forte, where Rosa Moore was singing.

I laid my head on the corner of the instrument,
and as my tears fell fast, I breathed more freely.
When, later. Sir Edmund apologised to me for
having made me ill with his horrid story, and
Henry whispered to me, " Mrs. Ernsley has just
announced that you are of the same species as
Miss Farnley, who cannot hear of death, or of
wounds, without swooning, but that you are only a
somewhat better actress," I was able to smile,
and speak gaily. Soon after, I went to bed ; as I
undressed, I thought of these lines of Scott :

" Full many a shaft at random sent,
Takes aim the archer never meant ;
And many a word at random spoken,
Can wound or heal a heart nigh broken."

That night I had little sleep, and when I woke in
the morning, my pillow was still wet with tears.

k3

202

CHAPTER VI.

Yes, deep within and deeper yet
The rankling shaft of conscience hide ;
Quick let the melting eye forget
The tears that in the heart abide.

*****
*****

Thus oft the mourner's wayward heart
Tempts him to hide his grief and die ;
Too feeble for confession's smart-
Too proud to bear a pitying eye.

Christian Year.

The following day was Sunday, and some of us
drove, some of us walked, to the village church.
It was about two miles distant from the house by
the carriage road, but the path that Jed thither
by a short cut across the park, through a small
wood, down a steep hill, and up another still
steeper, and then by a gentle descent into the

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 203

village, was not much more than a mile in length.
It was a beautiful walk, and the view from the top
of that last hill was enough to repay the fatigue
of scrambling up that winding path, exposed to
the burning heat of the sun, and that is not saying
a little. As the last bell had not begun to ring,
we sat down on the stile on the brow of the hill,
to wait for it, and in the mean time I looked with
delight on the picture before my eyes. The little
footpath wound down through the daisy-enamelled
grass to the edge of a pond of clear water, that
lay between the field and the road, and was shaded
by half a dozen magnificent oaks, elms, and
horse-chesnuts, beyond the little village, which
did not seem to contain more than seven or eight
cottages, each half-buried in trees, or overgrown
with creepers, except one red brick house, that
flared in all the pride of newness, and of the
gaudy flowers in its spruce little garden. In the
middle of the irregular square, or rather of the

204 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

wide part of the village road, for it could not be
called a street, stood a tall May-pole, still adorned
with two or three faded remnants of the streamers
which had decorated it a month before. On an
eminence beyond the village stood the church ;
one of those small old beautiful parish churches,
with one square gray tower, and two wide porches ;
around it grew yews and thorn trees, of various
shapes and sizes, intermingling their white flowers
and dark foliage in graceful contrast.

After a few moments' rest we walked on to the
churchyard, and sat down upon a tomb-stone close
to the principal porch. All the people of the
village were assembled, sitting, or standing in
groups, waiting for the clergyman's arrival. Mr.
Brandon was just telling me, in answer to my
expressions of admiration for a picturesque, ivy-
grown old wall and house, which formed one of
the boundaries of the churchyard, that they were
part of the ruins of an ancient palace of King

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 205

John's, when the carriage arrived, and we all went
into church. It looked smaller still within than
without, but its rude architecture had something
rehgious as well as rustic about it, and the simple
singing of the morning hymn by the school children
seemed in accordance with it. As usual my mind
wandered during the whole of the service, and
though I knelt when others knelt, and stood when
they stood, and though my lips mechanically re-
peated the responses, I never prayed except when
occasionally some words in the Liturgy or in the
Bible struck upon the secret feeling of my heart,
and drew from it a mental ejaculation, a passionate
appeal to Heaven, which was rather the cry of a
wounded spirit than a direct address to the God
between whom and my soul I felt as if the link of
communion was broken. That day, however,
little as I regularly attended to the service, it had
a soothing effect upon me. There was an old
monument exactly opposite our seat, to which my

206 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

eyes were continually reverting. It was that of a
knight crusader and of his wife ; their statues were
lying side by side, in that rigid repose which
unites the appearance of sleep and of death. There
was peace in each line of those sculptured figures —
an intensity of repose, the more striking from its
association with some of the emblems of war. As
I looked upon them I longed to be resting too.

The clergyman was reading the morning lesson
at that moment, and these words attracted my
attention, " And they all fell seven together, and
were put to death in the days of harvest; in the
first days in the beginning of barley harvest ; and
Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah, took sackcloth, and
spread it for her upon the rock, from the begin-
ning of harvest, until water dropped upon them
out of Heaven, and suffered neither the birds of
the air to rest on them by day, nor the beasts of
the field by night."

These words seemed to answer my thoughts;

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 207

why I cannot tell, perhaps no one but myself could
understand what that connection was, and yet it
struck me so powerfully that I felt as if a chink
had suddenly opened, and given me a glimpse into
another world. There was quietness and confi-
dence and strength, in the midst of torture, agony,
and despair. The mother, who had lost all her
sons, and that by an ignominious death, sat upon
the rock days and nights, and she spread sack-
cloth upon it, and she slept not by night, and she
rested not by day, but drove away the birds of the
air and the beasts of the field, and verily she had
her reward; their bones were gathered together
by the king's command, and they buried them
there. She had her meed, I might have mine at
last; I could weep and pray, fast by day and
watch by night, give up the joys of life, the hopes
of youth ; cease to banish the remembrance of the
past, but in quiet penitence, in humbled contem-
plation, bear it ever in mind, and carry about with

208 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

me, through a long life perhaps, the dagger in the
wound, till at last the day might come when my
own heart would absolve me, and Edward Mid-
dleton would pity me.

After the service the clergyman announced his
intention of administering the holy sacrament on
the following Sunday, to all such as should be
religiously and devoutly disposed. For the last
year I had always listened to this address either
with a feeling of dogged indifference, or, if my
heart was less hardened than usual, with a pang
of shame and grief ; but always with a determina-
tion to remain banished from the altar, excom-
municated by my own conscience. Now, for the
first time, I listened with a somewhat different
feeling ; I longed to kneel there, and as I looked
at the clergyman while he preached, and marked
his white hair, his venerable countenance, and the
benevolence of his manner, a sudden resolution
occurred to me ; I would open my heart to him ;

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 209

I would tell him all ; I would, for once, pour out
the secret anguish of my soul to one who neither
loved nor hated me ; to one who would tell me
what my guilt had been, — who would promise me
its pardon, and point out the path of duty to my
blinded slight. I felt feverishly impatient to ac-
compHsh this determination ; and when we came
out of church, and Mr. Brandon asked me if
I would walk or drive home, I said I would drive,
so as to make the walkers set out without me ; and
then I drew Mrs. Brandon aside, and told her, that
as I had heard that the afternoon service was at
half-past two o'clock, 1 should wait for it, and in
the mean time walk about the churchyard and the
village. She made some objections to my remain-
ing alone, which was inevitable if I stayed, as all
the men had walked on, and the women would
none of them be inclined to miss their luncheon ;
but at last yielding to my earnest wish, she said
she would herself come to afternoon church, in
order to fetch me back.

210 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

I saw them all drive off, and the village people
slowly leave the churchyard in different directions,
and sat myself down on the same tombstone as in
the morning to watch for Mr. Leslie. It was some
time before he came out of church, and when he
did he remained for several minutes in conversation
with the clerk at the door of the porch. At last
he dismissed him, and walked my way ; he seemed
doubtful whether he should stop or not, as he
passed me, but I got up, and this decided him.
He smiled, and asked me if I had been forgotten
and left behind ?

" No," I said, '' I am only waiting here, as there
is hardly time to go to the house and come back
before afternoon church ; and this is a pleasant
place to spend an hour in."

" I am glad you like our old churchyard," said
Mr. Leslie; and then he began talking of the
views, of the neighbouring scenery, of the ruined
palace now transformed into a farm, of all the

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 211

subjects he thought would interest me, little think-
ing that at that moment the secret of a life of
anguish, the confession of an over-burthen ed con-
science, was trembling on my lips. The more he
talked, too (although there was nothing unsuitable
to his sacred office in anything he said), the more I
felt to lose sight of the priest of God — of the
messenger of Heaven, in the amiable, conversible,
gentlemanlike man before me ; however, when he
pulled out his watch, and apologised for leaving
me, pleading a promise he had made to visit a sick
parishioner, I made a desperate effort, and said :
" May I ask you, Mr, Leslie, to allow me a few
moments of conversation with you before the hour
of afternoon service, if you can spare time ? "

He looked surprised, but bowed assent, and said
he would return in half an hour. During that
half hour I sat with my face buried in my hands,
feeling as if able to count every pulsation of my
heart. The excitement under which I had acted

212 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

was past ; I trembled at the idea of what my lips
were going to utter ; I felt as if I had escaped a
great danger ; I was astonished at myself for ever
having formed such a resolution ; and when Mr.
Leslie stood before me again, and asked me, with a
smile, what my business with him was, I could as
soon have destroyed myself in his presence, as have
pronounced the words of self-accusation, which had
appeared to me so natural and so easy when he was
in the pulpit and I on my knees in church. But
he was there, and he was waiting for my answer,
and my cheeks were flushing, and I knew that the
next moment I should burst into tears. With a
desperate confusion I drew my purse, which con-
tained several sovereigns, from my pocket, and
asked him to distribute it among the poor of the
village. He seemed puzzled, but thanked me, and
said, he should be happy to be the dispenser of
such a liberal donation : and I darted away from
him, unable to bear the shame and the misery I

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 213

was enduring ; for now it seemed to me that I had
added hypocrisy to my guilt ; that I had hardened
my heart against the best impulse I had yet ex-
perienced, and that I had deceived the minister of
God, whose praises sounded like curses in my
ears.

I attended the afternoon service in a more
reckless mood than ever; and that day at dinner,
and during all the evening, was more feverishly
gay, more wildly excited than usual ; and Henry
Lovell, who seemed struck with the strangeness
of my manner, for the first time, made love to me
without reserve. The language of passion was
new to my ears ; his words made my heart throb
and my cheeks burn ; but even while he spoke, and
while under the influence of a bewildering excite-
ment, which made me feel, for the time, as if I
shared his sentiments, I once thought of the crusader.
I saw a pale, calm face, with its well known fea-
tures, under the warrior's helmet : and I felt that

214 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

to lie down and die by his side would be hap-
piness compared to such a life as mine.

A few days after this, we were all sitting in the
drawing-room at about twelve o'clock ; the day
was not tempting, and instead of going out, we had
settled to work, while Sir Edmund and Henry
alternately read out loud to us, but Rosa Moore
when she heard the plan proposed, screwed up her
lips into a decided expression of disapprobation,
and slipt out of the room with the look of a child
who has escaped its lesson. Two hours after she
came in again and sat down quietly in a chair
opposite me ; she looked red and out of breath,
but a look of intense amusement was dancing in
her eyes. She listened patiently to the conclusion
of the tragedy, which Sir Edmund was reading
well, though rather too theatrically for the occasion ;
and when the different remarks upon it had sub-
sided, she turned to Henry, and with perfect
gravity, but a most mischievous look in her eyes,

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 215

said to him " Mr. Lovell, I am sorry to have to
break it to you, but upon pain of death, we must
marry immediately."

" I never dreamt of such an honour," said Henry,
laughing, " but if there is no other alternative, I
can resign myself ; but who lays down this law ? "

" A gentleman who shortened my walk this
morning, for I had no intention of coming home
before the end of the tragedy."

" Who can you mean ? "

" Somebody who must be either your best friend
or your worst enemy, by the interest he seems to
take in you."

" What do you mean ? " said Mrs. Brandon.

" Only that as I was exploring the thicket near
East Common, 1 heard a rustling in the hedge,
and suddenly stood face to face with an individual
of not very prepossessing appearance."

'^ What kind of man, my love ? you frighten me
to death."

" Why he was not like a gentleman, nor yet like

216 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

a countryman ; not like anything good in its way.
He opened our interview by laying hold of my
arm."

"How dreadful!" "What did he say?" ''What
did you do ? " " How shocking." " How did you
get away? " "I should have died on the spot;""
was echoed with different sorts of emphasis round
the table.

" Why, I told him I had five shillings and six-
pence in my purse, in case it was agreeable to him
to take them."

"Did he?"

" No, here they are quite safe ; he did not want
to take my money, but to give me advice, he said,"
and Rosa burst into one of her merriest peals of
laughter.

" What did he say to you exactly ? Now pray
be serious, Rosa," cried Mrs. Brandon, im-
patiently.

" This is what he said, ^Hark'ee my duck, do you

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 217

marry that ere chap, that Mr. Lovell what's a
courting you, and the sooner the better, for if you
don't it will be the worse for you, and for him, and
for some one as shall be nameless. It will be the
saving of his life, if you mind me my pretty gal.
He added this, as I wrenched my arm away, and
was taking to my legs."'

'^ And he let you go ? "

" No, he caught hold of me again, and begged
for an answer. I am afraid I should have promised
to marry Mr. Lovell, or to kill him, or anything
else that was expected of me, in order to get away,
when another man joined us, and muttered, ' Fool,
you are dropping the Brentford ticket at Hammer-
smith gate.' Upon which my friend screwed up
his mouth into a particular shape, gave a kind of
whistle, and both darted away among the bushes ;
and here I am."

I looked round to see how Henry took this
account, but he was gone. Mrs. Brandon noticed

VOL. I. L

218 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

also his disappearance, and left the room. Mrs.
Ernsley, Sir Edmund, and the eldest Miss Farnley
drew round Rosa, to hear her recount again her
adventure, and the youngest Miss Farnley whis-
pered to me : " Mr. Lovell must be in love with
Miss Moore, for I never saw a man more strangely
agitated; but it is an odd story; what do you
think it can mean ?"

" Perhaps it is a hoax,'' I said ; for I had a vague
wish that the whole thing might be hushed up.
I felt frightened — I thought it evident that Rosa
had been taken for me, and I could not help
thinking that the two men she had fallen in with,
were those 1 had seen at Salisbury. Henry's
agitation and his sudden disappearance confirmed
my suspicions, and I felt the more tormented
from having no one near me, to whom I could
impart them. When we went into the dining-
room for luncheon, Mrs. Brandon looked flushed
and worried ; she told Rosa that Henry had gone

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 219

towards the East common, to see if the men who
had frightened her, and used his name for that
purpose, were lurking in that direction ; that Mr.
Brandon had sent the gamekeeper and some of
his men to make inquiries in the neighbourhood
about these fellows, and directed that they
should be brought up for examination before
him as a magistrate, if they could be found. Rosa
proposed to me to ride with her and all the men
of the party, that afternoon, and scour the park,
the neighbouring woods and downs in search of
the men. Curiosity, and an intense desire to
ascertain if I was right in my suppositions, made
me agree to this plan. We were soon off, and
galloping across the park. Rosa was in tearing
spirits; she had been somewhat alarmed in the
morning, but the idea of a quiproquOy the amuse-
ment of a practical riddle, the fun of pursuing
her assailant, (whose offence had not been of a
nature which would make its results to him so
l2

220 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

serious as to check any levity on the subject) tickled
her fancy exceedingly, and she kept her com-
panions in a continual roar of laughter. We
rode about in different directions for nearly two
hours, but, except a few labourers, we met no
one. As we were walking our horses through a
dell, that divided the upper part of East common
from a wood of beautiful oaks, that stretched for
miles beyond it, Mr. Manby suddenly exclaimed,
" There are two men scrambling over a hedge in
the direction of Ash Grove. Now, Miss Moore,
for a desperate effort." We all looked in the
direction where he pointed with his whip, and all
set off at once at full speed. There was a small
ditch between the field we were in, and the one
we were making for ; all the horses took it at a
flying leap, except mine, who positively refused
to budge. In vain I struck him and urged him
on ; he began rearing violently, but would neither
jump nor walk over it; the groom begged me to

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 221

get off, while he dragged it across ; I did so, and
walked on a little to try and find a place where
I could step over the ditch myself. I stopped a
minute to look at a clump of ash trees, surround-
ing a little ruined hut, which 1 thought would
make a lovely sketch. At that moment the door
of the hut opened ; a man came out and looked
cautiously about him — It was Henry — two others
followed him ; the very men I had seen at
Salisbury; these last turned into a lane which
I knew led into the high-road to Blandford, and
were out of sight in a moment. Henry stood
still for an instant, and then walked off towards
the house. I was not surprised, but my heart
sickened within me. I felt a vague pity for
Henry, a nervous terror for myself; it never
occurred to me to point out the two men, or
draw attention to the spot where I had seen them
disappear.

In the meantime the groom had brought a

222 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

plank, by means of which I crossed the ditch ;
I got on my horse again, and rode slowly on to
meet the rest of the party, who w^ere galloping
back in great amusement, at having mistaken
Mr. Leslie and his clerk, who had been quietly
clambering over a stile, on their way to the cottage
of a sick old woman, for the dangerous characters
they were in search of. We came up with Henry
a few yards from the house. He looked ill and
tired ; Mr. Brandon hallooed to him, to know if
he had seen or heard anything of the vagabonds.

" Have you?" was his answer.

"No," cried Mr. Brandon.

*' Well then. Miss Moore," (said Henry, with
a forced laugh,) " we must e'en wed to-morrow,
or remain single at our peril," and he walked off,
humming the tune of " Gai^ gai, mariez-vous."

The subject of Rosa's adventure was now and
then resumed, and became a sort of standing
joke against Henry ; evidently a disagreable one

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 223

to him, though he put a good face on the
matter.

One day he asked Rosa, if she had not been
laughing at us all, and whether the whole thing-
was not a practical joke. He took to twitting her
about her visions, and proposed to write a ballad
on " the two invisible men of Brandon Woods,'' on
which I said, " And I will write a sequel, which
shall be called ' The ruined Hut of Ash Grove.'"

Mrs. Ernsley looked at Sir Edmund, as much
as to say, "What a silly attempt at a repartie ;"
and said in a hesitating manner, " I do not quite
see what would be the point of that."

Henry looked as if the ground had suddenly
opened, and shut again before his eyes.

224

CHAPTER VII.

Turn to the watery world ; but who to thee
(A wonder yet un vie wed) shall paint the sea !
Various and vast, sublime in all its forms,
When lulled by zephyrs, or when roused by storms,
Its colours changing, when from clouds and sun,
Shades after shades, upon the surface run.

Crabbb,

And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain.

Shaksprare.

Two or three weeks now elapsed, without the
occurrence of anything worth relating ; but in which
I was much struck with two entirely new features
in Henry's character, which were gloom and
irritability. At times he was still as agreeable as
ever, but the least coldness on my part, or the

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 225

commonest kind of attention paid me by others,
seemed to exasperate him beyond any attempt
at self-government. He was once on the verge
of insulting Sir Edmund Ardern, because I had
talked to him for an hour together ; and there
was nothing touching in the fierce jealousy which
he showed on these occasions. When under its
influence, he seemed absolutely to hate me, and
sometimes he quite frightened me by his violence.
However, when that had been the case, he would
suddenly recollect himself, and then, by his ardent
expressions of passionate affection ; by the grief,
the misery, he pleaded in justification of his
violence ; by the words of eloquent appeal, of
tender entreaty, which seemed to spring from the
very depths of his heart ; he moved, he agitated,
he persuaded me ; and, half in weakness, half in
self-deception, partly from the fear of losing the
excitement of being adored by one who fascinated
my mind, though he did not touch my heart, I
l3

226 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

tacitly encouraged him in the beUef that I returned
his affection.

On the 7th of July, after I had been about a
month at Brandon, I received a letter from
Mrs. Middleton, the purport of which was, that
my uncle desired me to return immediately to
Elmsley ; that she was sorry that he was so
positive about it, as she saw by my letters that
I was amused there; that she would have been
more able to withstand him on the subject, and
to obtain for me a prolongation of my visit, had
it not been that the very circumstance which had
occasioned his decision, was one which, from
motives which I could well understand, she could
not discuss with him, and in which she could take
no part; "and that, my love (she added) is my
brother's unexpected visit to Brandon. I have
seldom seen your uncle so much irritated as when
he heard of his going there; and it was with
difficulty that he refrained from writing by return

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 227

of post to desire you instantly to come home.
This would, however, have caused a sort of sensa-
tion, which, he felt himself, was undesirable; but
now, he will hear of no delay, and my maid will
arrive at Brandon the day after you receive this
letter, and you will set off with her on the follow-
ing morning. I think it right to tell you, dearest
child, that Mr. Middleton, in speaking to me of
Henry the other day, expressed his determination
never again to allow him to make up to you, or
you to encourage in him the least hope of a
marriage, which he is perfectly resolved never to
give his consent to. He has desired me to tell
you so, and to write to Henry to the same effect.
You know (as we have often said to each other,)
your uncle dislikes Henry, and that makes him,
no doubt, more positive still on the subject than he
might otherwise be; but I must admit myself,
that my brother having no fortune whatever, and
not having ever set about in earnest following up

ELLEN MIDDLETON.

any profession, a marriage with him would be not
only undesirable for you, but, in fact, impossible.

" You may be surprised, my own dearest child,
at my speaking to you in this way of an affair
which, perhaps, you yourself have not taken into
consideration. I earnestly wish that Henry may
not have made such an impression upon you, as
to make this warning necessary ; but, after what
I saw here— though perhaps too late — and what
I have heard goes on at Brandon, I scarcely ven-
ture to hope so.

" I will not talk to you, my own Ellen, of the
happiness which your return will give me : you
are the joy of my life ; the star in my dark night :
my best beloved^, my precious child. If your tears
should flow, if your young heart should ache,
come to me, dearest, and lay your head on my
bosom, and find in my love, which shall know no
change, ' a shelter from the storm, a refuge from
the tempest.' "

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 229

I pressed to my lips Mrs. Middleton's letter, but
remained agitated by a number of conflicting feel-
ings. She seemed unhappy, and I could not help
thinking, that besides the anxiety she expressed
about the state of my feelings, she was also grieved
at my uncle''s harsh decision against her brother.
I was vexed too at being ordered back to Elmsley.
I had been spoiled by unlimited indulgence, and
unvarying tenderness, and though bitter sorrow
had come upon me, and 1 had gone through severe
suffering, it had not come in the form of discipline,
or been turned to its salutary use. I dreaded the
monotony, the associations of Elmsley, from which
I saw, by this letter, that Henry was henceforward
to be banished ; and, altogether, when I walked
into Mrs. Brandon's room, and announced to her
my approaching departure, tears of vexation stood
in my eyes.

She said a great deal of her own regret, and
proposed writing immediately to Mr. Middleton

230 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

to entreat him to let me stay on longer, and urged
me to wait for his answer, but this I could not
venture to do. My uncle was a man who seldom
gave an order, but when he did, I knew it was not
to be trifled with.

I did not state to Mrs. Brandon the real reason
of my recall ; but she gave me to understand that
she knew it, and I did not repulse as much as
usual, her implied sympathy.

We went down into the drawing-room together ;
and when Henry appeared, I watched his counte-
nance to try and gather from it, if he too had
received the letter which his sister had been desired
to write to him ; but he puzzled me completely.
He was absent and pre-occupied, but did not seem
the least depressed ; on the contrary, there was a
kind of excitement about him, that gave him the
appearance of being in high spirits. When Mrs.
Brandon spoke of my summons to Elmsle}', and
the rest of the company were, in their different

ELLEN MIDDLETON 231

ways, making civil speeches to me, he said nothing,
but in his turn watched me narrowly.

He did not sit next to me at dinner, which I
thought, with a little contrivance, he might have
done; nor did he come near me during the
first part of the evening, but seemed entirely
engrossed by a long eager whispering conversation
which he kept up with Mrs. Brandon.

At tea-time, she came up to Lady Wyndham
and Mrs. Ernsley, and asked if it would suit them
to make a party the next day to the sea-side.
There was a beautiful little bay about twenty miles
off, which would make an excellent object for an
expedition, and which she would like to shew me,
before I left Dorsetshire. It so happened that I
had never in my life seen the sea, except from
a distance, and this made the idea of this excur-
sion particularly agreeable to me. Everybody
approved of it ; for once everybody was like
Mrs. Hatton, and liked nothing so much as an

232 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

expedition, and more especially one to the sea-side,
so it was settled that we were to be off at eight
the following morning. Except in general con-
versation, Henry did not speak to me that evening,
till, as he was lighting a candle for me, near the
refreshment table, he said in a low voice, " Have
you ever been so interested in a book that you have
been obliged to shut it up, and to pause before you
opened it again ? "

" No,"" (I answered,) ^' I always look at the last
page."

" I dare not look at my last page," he said, and
his voice trembled. At that moment I thought I
liked him.

At six o'clock the next morning, in my dressing-
gown and shawl, I was at the window of my bed-
room, anxiously examining the state of the weather,
and trying to stretch my head beyond the corner
of the house, in order to find out whether there
might not be a very little bit of blue sky visible,

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 233

behind an ominous mass of gray clouds ; but either
my head would not go far enough, or else there
was no blue sky to be seen, and each survey only
tending to discourage me more thoroughly, I laid
down again, and tried to go to sleep. At seven
my maid came in, and informed me that it was a
dull morning, but the carriages were to come round
all the same, and the ladies were getting up. We
met in the breakfast-room, with the weary, cross,
sick-looking faces, which early rising, especially
on a gloomy day, is apt to produce. In the first
carriage went Lady Wyndham, Mrs. Brandon,
Mr. Ernsley, and Mr. Moore. In the second,
Mrs. Ernsley, the two Miss Farnley's, and Sir
Edmund Ardern ; Rosa Moore and myself had a
pony chaise to ourselves, and the rest of the men
rode. By the time we had reached the gates of the
park, the clouds began to break, and to sail across
the sky, in white fleecy shapes. Soon the sun
himself appeared after a desperate struggle with

234 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

the clouds that hung about him. Then the birds
began to sing in the hedges, and every leaf to
glitter in the sunshine, while Rosa, who had been
yawning most unmercifully, and, in the intervals,
holding her pocket-handkerchief fast upon her
mouth to keep the fog out of it, brightened up, and
began talking and laughing, as if she had not been
forced out of her bed at an unusual hour. We
drove through lanes, such lanes as Miss Mitford
loves and describes; through villages, each of which
might have been her village^ in which the cottages
had gardens full of cabbages and sunflowers, and
the grass plats had geese and pigs and rosy
children ; through which little girls were walking
to school in their straw bonnets and blue checked
aprons, and stopped to stare and to curtsey to the
grand people that were driving by ; in which boys
were swinging on gates, and urchins were dabbling
in ponds in company with ducks that seemed
hardly more amphibious than themselves, and then

ELLEN MIDDLETON, 235

we drove by parks and lawns, — parks sloping,
wooded, wild ; lawns studded with beds of flowers,
the red geranium or the glowing carnation, forming
rich masses of dazzling brilliancy on the smooth
surface of the soft green grass. How beautiful
they were on that day, that July day, " the an-
cestral homes of England," as Mrs. Hemans calls
them ; streams of sunshine gilding their tall elms,
their spreading oaks and stately beeches. How
that bright sunshine danced among their leaves,
and upon the grass amidst their roots, and how the
berries of the mountain ash glowed in its light, —
the mountain ash, that child of the north, which
with its sturdy shape, its coral fruit, and the gray
rock from which it springs, looks almost like a
stranger in the midst of the more luxuriant foliage
of the south. But scarcely two hours had elapsed,
when we turned a corner in the road, and for the
first time the sea lay stretched before my eyes. It
was rough ; the waves were crested with foam ; and

236 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

already I heard them break with that sullen roar,
with that voice of the ocean, in which, as in the
thunder of heaven, we instinctively recognise the
voice of God. We drove up to the little inn
where the horses were to be put up; I could
hardly wait for the step of the carriage to be let
down, and hastened alone to the beach ; the sea
was not, as I have seen it since, blue and calm,
glittering with a thousand sparks of light ; not like
some quiet lake which ripples on the shore, and
murmurs gently, as it bathes the shining pebbles
in its limpid wave ; no, it was as I would have
chosen to see it for the first time, stormy, wild,
restless, colourless from the everlasting fluctuation
of colour, brown, purple, white, yellow, green in
turns ; billows over billows chased each other to
the shore, each wave gathering itself in silence,
swelling, heaving, and then bursting with that roar
of triumph, with that torrent of foam, that cloud
of spray, that mixture of fury and of joy, which

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 237

nothing in nature, but chafed waters combine.*

0 God, I have suffered much; terror, remorse,
agony, have wrung my heart, have shattered my
nerves ; I have been guilty ; I have been wretched ;

1 dare not thank thee for the tumultuous joys of
passion, for the feverish cup of pleasure, hastily
snatched, and as suddenly dashed to earth ; but I
will thank thee, for the swelling of the heart, for
the lifting up of the soul, for the tears I have shed,
for the ecstasy I have known on the sea-shore, in
the forest, on the mountain. The heart knoweth
its own bitterness ; but there is also a joy with which
the stranger intermeddles not.

We wandered for some time on the beach, and
then began scrambling among the cliffs, and
clambering up to the various rocky points from
whence the little bay and its wooded coast were
seen to most advantage. In doing so, we
gradually separated into different parties, and

* See Coleridge's beautiful lines on the Avalanches.

238 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

Mrs. Brandon, Rosa, Henry, and myself, went
to explore a small cavern, where there were some
curious sands of various colours, which Mr.
Brandon had described to us the day before.

Rosa was on her knees upon the ground,
collecting specimens of each ; I was looking at
the sea through a natural window in the rock ;
when Mrs. Brandon asked her if she had got all
she wanted, and begged her, if she had, to walk
back with her to the inn, as she wished to order
luncheon, and speak to Mr. Brandon about the
arrangements for our return.

I was preparing to follow them, when Henry
laid his hand on my arm, and said in so serious
a voice that it quite startled me, " For my sister's
sake, Ellen, stay with me here a few moments ; we
will walk back by the downs ; I have much to say
to you, and this is my last opportunity."

I stopped immediately, and leant against the
entrance of the cavern.

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 239

Henry was as pale as death, his lip was
quivering, and his hand shook violently as he
took hold of mine.

'^ Ellen," he said, abruptly, " do you know that
I love you, as much as a man can love,- — more than
words can express ? Do you know, do you feel it,
Ellen ?"^ And he wrung my hand with nervous
violence.

"Has your sister written to you?" I asked,
with a trembling voice.

" She has. What will you do ? "

'' What can 1 do?"

"Do you care for me ? "

" I am sorry to part with you."

As I said these words, I hid my face in my hands,
and from nervous agitation, burst into tears.

" Then we shall never part !" he exclaimed.
" Then to-morrow, at this hour, you shall be mine
— mine for ever, beyond all human power to part
us ! mine, to worship, to adore, to live for, to die

240 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

for ! Ellen, do you hear me ? Speak to me !
Answer me! Shall this be? Shall it be? Why
do you look so pale and so cold ? "

" You are raving, Henry, you are raving ; you
frighten me, you hurt me ; let me go."

I rushed out of the cavern, and sitting down on
a stone by the sea-side, cried bitterly.

When I looked up, Henry was standing before
me, waiting for my next words with forced calm-
ness ; but as I remained silent, he made a strong
effort over himself, and said quietly, " I will
explain to you what I mean ; I am not going to
make love to you now ; I have not time to tell you
what I feel, and what you know as well as I
do ; but thus much I must tell you, my sister is
right when she says that your uncle will never
consent to our marriage : he never will, Ellen ;
and if we part now, we part for ever ; and God
only knows the misery which hangs over both
our heads if we do."

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 241

I raised my head at these words, and looked at
him with surprise ; he had no right to assume
that such a separation would make me miserable ;
my pride was wounded, and spoke in my eyes :
he read their language, and went on : —

" This is no time for girlish resentment ; forgive
me, Ellen ; I make you angry, but when the
fate of a whole life, and more than one life,
hangs on the decision of an hour, it is no time for
weighing words; and mine must be few. Mrs.
Brandon knows that I love you, and how I love
you ! she thinks too that you love me. She is
well acquainted with her brother's inflexible pre-
judices, with his stubborn character; she received
from your dying mother a charge to shield and
protect you ; should he ever turn against you,
and make you unhappy by the sternness of his
conscientious but iron nature, she will obey that
charge ; she will go with you to-morrow to the
church at Henley, and stand by us while we "

VOL. I, M

242 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

" Stop, Henry, stop, I cannot, will not, listen to
such words as these. You ask me to marry ;
to seal my fate, against my uncle's will, without
my aunt's consent ; you ask me to add another
drop of sorrow to the cup already too bitter and
too full. That / should do this ! Oh, my God,
he asks me to do this, and I sit by and listen ;
Henry, 1 almost hate you for the thought."

" Can you believe,"" he rejoined, " that she
would not bless you for the act ? Can you think
that when she hears that the child of her adoption,
the child of her love, has saved from anguish,
from despair, from guilt, the brother whom she
nursed in his cradle, whose mother she was, as
she has been yours, — can you think that she will
not pronounce a secret but fervent blessing on
your head ? She obeys her husband's stern
commands, Ellen, but her heart aches for us. Oh !
for her sake, in the name of your dying mother,
whose letter Mrs. Brandon will show you ; for my

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 243

sake, for your own ; I implore you not to drive me
to despair ! for again I repeat it, unutterable
misery, which you do not, which you cannot, now
understand or foresee, awaits you, if you should
refuse to yield to my entreaties."

" Henry, you speak a strange language, and
I must know the truth. I am tired of doubts ;
I am tired of fears ; I am weary of my life ; and I
must speak. What unknown misery do you
threaten me with ? What are your secrets ?
Ay, I must know them ! " And in my turn, I
seized his arm, and pushing away the hair from
my forehead, I looked him full in the face.
" Why am I to avoid the Tracy s ? Why do
vulgar ruffians use your name to terrify me into a
marriage with you ? Why am I now to be forced
into a secret marriage, and at a day's notice ? and
if your ungovernable passions are not instantly
gratified, why are you to plunge into guilt and
into despair ? "

m2

244 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

Frightened at my own violence, I sat down
breathless and trembling. He on the contrary
had grown calm, and there was almost a sneer on
his lips as he answered, " Those vulgar ruffians
are relatives of the Tracys, and, for their sakes,
I wished to spare them an exposure which would
have been of no use to any one. I believe that they
meant no more than a foolish practical joke, of
which the account was highly coloured by
Rosa Moore ; but you can easily understand that
such people would not be desirable acquaintances
to make, and I, therefore, recommended you to keep
away from a house where you might meet them.
As to the misery that you may bring upon your-
self, Ellen, if you return to Elmsley, I may not,
perhaps, fully make you feel it ; but when I
tell you that your uncle, determined as he is
to prevent your marrying me, is as much deter-
mined to make you marry Edward Middleton,
you may, perhaps, form some idea of it.""

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 245

" Marry Edward," (I muttered to myself,) and
then shuddering at the recollection of the words
he was reported to have said — I cried, !' No, no ;
that can never be."

" No, never,'' said Henry in a solemn voice.
" There is a gulf between you which can never
be filled up."

" What, what ?" I cried with a sensation of
terror.

" Did you not say j ust now yourself, Ellen, that
such a marriage never could be ? But you know
not what persecution would be employed in order
to bring it about. Poor Julia's death was, in
a worldly sense, a great advantage to you. It
made you at once a rich heiress."" (I could not
stifle a groan of anguish, but Henry went on as
if he had not heard it). " I happen to know
that your uncle has settled the whole of his
property upon you in the event of your marrying
Edward ; but I also know that he will disinherit

246 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

either of you who should refuse to comply with
that condition."

" I never will consent to it. Let him have my
uncle's fortune ; let me be banished from Elmsley ;
but nothing shall ever make me agree to what
would degrade him and myself."

" Then, Ellen," eagerly exclaimed Henry ;
" then, Ellen ; if such is your resolution, do not
hesitate an instant more. Once married to me,
you are safe in my arms from dangers which you do
not dream of, which I dare not point out to you.
Ellen, I tremble for myself and for you if you
should refuse me. Together, we may have trials
to meet ; but parted, they will be fearful. We must
meet them together. Our fates are linked in a
strange mysterious manner. There is a similarity
in our destinies, and if you leave me now "

He paused, his voice was choked with the vio-
lence of his emotion; the reckless, the daring
Henry Lovell was weeping like a child. Oh, then

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 247

again I thought I liked him, for 1 knelt down
by his side, I took his hand in mine, I bathed
it with my tears, and I whispered to him that
I would promise anything, that I would plight
my faith to him, do anything but consent to the
secret marriage he proposed.

Again and again, he urged it with increasing
vehemence, with ardent supplications. Once he
said, " Ellen, you are destroying my happiness
and your own ; but not ours alone ; you know not
what you do. The fate of a pure and innocent
existence is at this moment in your hands; do
not doom it to secret anguish, to hopeless sorrow.
Have mercy on yourself, on me, on her ! "

In vain I pressed him to explain himself; he
only protested, over and over again, with still
greater agitation, and even swore that we must be
married now or never ; that it was useless to speak
of the future. He spurned every alternative, and
every promise I offered to make; till, at last,

248 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

indignant and irritated, I exclaimed, as I got up
and turned towards the town, '' Well, then, let
it be so; let us part for ever; everything is
at an end between us."

He rushed before me, stopped me, held both
my hands in his iron grasp, and with a coun-
tenance that one could hardly have recognised as
his own, so dreadful was its expression of rage,
he said, "No; all is not at an end between us.
We do not part for ever. Now, even at this mo-
ment, I could bring you on your knees at my
feet; I could force you to implore my pity, my
forbearance, ill-fated, unhappy girl, whom I love
with that fierce love, which idolises one hour and
hates the next. No, we do not part for ever;
through life I shall be at your side, either to
worship and adore you, to be all in all to you,
in spite of man and laws, and duties and ties ;
or else to haunt your path, to spoil your joys, to
wring your soul. Ellen, I must be the blessing or

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 249

the curse of your life. Never shall I be indifferent
to you. You have refused, in ignorance in
madness you have refused, to be my wife. You
shall be my victim ! Either you shall love me
as wildly, as passionately as I love you, and weep
with tears of blood that you spumed me to-day;
or if ever you love another, I will stand between
him and you, and with each throb of love
for him, there will be in your heart a pang
of fear, a shudder of terror, a thought of me.
This is our parting — you would have it so —
farewell ! "

He rushed back to the sea-shore; 1 walked
on unable to collect my thoughts. When I arrived
at the inn, I found everybody at luncheon. There
was a great deal of conversation going on, and
discussions as to the time and manner of our
return; I felt bewildered, and scarcely under-
stood the meaning of what was said.

Mrs. Brandon, in pity for nie, I suppose, took
M 3

250 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

Rosa's place in the pony chaise ; she did not say
much to me, but had the kindness to allow me
to lean back, and cry in quiet. She evidently
thought that never had there been a girl so in
love, or so broken-hearted before. She was very
good-natured, but there was a shade of pique
in her manner, which probably arose from my
refusal to avail myself of her help for the secret
marriage which had been proposed.

We arrived late at Brandon. I was obliged
to go to bed with a raging head-ache — found that
Mrs. Swift, my aunt's maid, had arrived — took
leave of Mrs. Brandon, and of the other women
in the house, in my room that night — did not
see Henry again — and, at seven o'clock the fol-
lowing morning, was already at some distance
from Brandon, on my way to Elmsley.

25i

CHAPTER VIII.

Why did he marry Fulvia and not love her?"

Shakspeare.

My journey back to Elmsley was in every way
a very different one from that which I had made
from it a month before. The weather was cold
and windy, and the absence of sunshine made every
object we passed appear less attractive than the
impression which my memory had retained.

Sir Walter Scott remarks, in one of his novels,
that good humour gives to a plain face the same
charm as sunshine lends to an ugly country. I
agreed entirely with him, as I looked first on
Salisbury Plain, without one gleam to diversify its

252 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

gloomy extent, and then on Mrs. Swift's un-
meaning face, the stern rigidity of which never
relaxed into a smile, and contrasted it with the
cheerful light of dear Mrs. Hatton's radiant
and beaming, though certainly not beautiful,
features.

I had much to think about, but I found it
difficult to define and collect my ideas. Henry
and I had parted in anger, and it was almost with
a curse on his lips that he had taken leave of me.
He, too, knew my secret ; he, too, used that know-
ledge to threaten and terrify me. Had Edward
betrayed it to him, since he left England ? or was
it he who had denounced me to Edward. Alas !
it mattered little which it was. I was stunned,
I felt as if one by one all those whom I cared for
would upbraid and forsake me. A dreadful
recollection remained on my mind of something
which Henry had said in that last conversation, of
Julia's death having been a great worldly advan-

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 253

tage to me, and of my uncle having settled his
fortune upon me. My blood ran cold at the
thought — a marriage with Edward was the con-
dition annexed. The Exile's dream of the home to
which he can never return, the Desert Traveller's
vision of water which he can never approach, are
to them what to me were those words, — a marriage
with Edward. Something which in the shadowy
dreams of girlhood had hovered in my fancy ;
something which the terrors and the trials of the
last year had crushed and subdued ; something
which in the feverish excitement of the last months
had been dimmed but not destroyed ; something
which survived hope, and rose again in the silence
of the soul when the restless stimulus of outward
excitements failed. But it could never be ! How
could I ever stand in the place of that wretched
child whose image would rise between me and the
altar if ever I ventured to approach it, as my
uncle's heiress, as Edward's bride ? His Bride !

254 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

The very sight of me had rendered Elmsley
insupportable to him ; the knowledge of my guilt
(for guilty I was, though guiltless of the dreadful
consequences of my ungovernable impetuosity) had
driven him from England. Was he not Julia's
cousin ? Was not Julia's death the work of my
hand ? And had not Henry said that her death had
been an advantage to me ? He had ; and then he
spoke of bringing me down upon my knees before
him to implore his pity; he poisoned his weapon,
and then dealt the blow. His pity ! Oh, as I
thought of that, I longed to see him but for one
moment again, if only to tell him that I spurned
his pity, despised his forbearance, and that, taught
by himself, I had learned one lesson at least, which
I should never forget, and that was to be revenged !
And in the struggle he had begun, I felt myself the
strongest, for I did not love him ; in that last scene
the truth had been revealed to myself as
well as to him. The slight links which bound

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 255

me to him, had in a moment snapt ; but he loved
me, with a fierce and selfish love indeed, but still
he loved me ; and if there is torment in unrequited
love ; if there is agony in reading the cold language
of indifference in the eyes on which you gaze
away the happiness of your life, that torment,
that agony, should be his. These thoughts were
dreadful ; I shudder as I write them ; but my
feelings were excited, and my pride galled nearly
to madness. I remember that I clenched with
such violence a smelling-bottle, that it broke to
pieces in my hand, and the current of my thoughts
was suddenly turned to Mrs. Swift's exclama-
tion of " La, Miss ! you 've broken your bottle,
and spilt the Eau de Cologne ! What could you
have been thinking of ? "

What had 1 been thinking of? Oh that world
of thought within us! That turmoil of restless
activity which boils beneath the calm surface of
our every day's life! We sit and we talk; we walk

256 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

and we drive ; we lie down to sleep, and we rise
up again the next day ; as if life offered nothing
to rouse the inmost passions of the soul ; as if
hopes tremblingly cherished were not often dashed
to the earth ; as if fears we scarcely dare to define
were not hovering near our hearts, and resolutions
were not formed in silence and abandoned in de-
spair ; as if the spirit of darkness was not prompting
the soul to deeds of evil, and the hand of God was
not stretched out between us and the yearning
gulf of destruction ! And others look on ; and,
like Mrs. Swift, wonder what we can be thinking
of. God help them ! or rather may He help us,
for we need it most.

At the end of the second day we reached the
well-known gates of Elmsley, and in a few mo-
ments more I was locked in my aunt's embrace.
I wept bitterly as I kissed her, and she seemed to
consider my tears as perfectly natural ; her whole
manner was soothing and sympathising. My

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 257

uncle received me kindly enough, though rather
coldly even for him. I longed to explain to Mrs.
Middleton that I did not care for Henry, and that
my uncle's decision against him was not the cause
of the deep depression which I could neither strug-
gle with nor conceal; but how could I disclaim
that cause and allege no other ? Also the intimate
intercourse which had been formerly habitual be-
tween her and myself had been broken up, so
that my heart had become as a sealed book to her,
and I dared not open it again ; its one dark
page formed an invincible barrier to that com-
munion of thoughts which had been ours in by-
gone days.

And so days and weeks went by ; I heard
nothing of Henry nor of Edward, though both
were almost constantly before my mind's eye ; in
this perpetual wear and tear of feeling my health
began to give way, and I grew every day paler
and thinner.

About three months after my return to Elmsley,

258 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

I was sitting one afternoon at that library window
where I mentioned once before having often
watched the sunset with Edward. The autumnal
tints were gilding the trees in the park with their
glowing hues, and the air had that wintry mildness
which is soothing though melancholy. The window
was open ; and, wrapped up in a thick shawl, I was
inhaling the damp moist air, and listening to the
rustle of the dried leaves which were being swept
from the gravel walk below; the low twitter of
some robin-redbreasts was in unison with the
scene, and affected me in an unaccountable manner.
My tears fell fast on the book in my hand. This
book was the " Christian Year'' ; that gift of
Edward, which I had thrust away in a fit of
irritation about a year ago. 1 had opened it again
that morning; and, partly as a kind of expia-
tion, partly with a vague hope of awakening in
myself a new tone of feeling — something to put in
the place of that incessant review of the past,
around which my thoughts were ever revolving, —

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 259

I forced myself to read a few of the passages
marked with a pencil. I had been interrupted
while so doing, but had carried away the book
with me, and now again applied myself to the
same task. I read stanza after stanza which spoke
of guilt, of suffering, and of remorse ; but 1 did
not close the book in anger as before. It was true
that they were carefully chosen, pointedly marked ;
but what of that? Was I not guilty? Was I
not wretched ? Did I not deserve worse at his
hands? Nay more; had I deserved the forbear-
ance, the mercy, he had shewn me ? Ought I not
to bless him for them ? It was such thoughts as
these that made my tears flow, but that at the same
time soothed the bitterness of my feelings.

I put down my book ; and, while gazing on the
darkening clumps of trees before me, I watched
the approach of the boy who was riding through
the avenue to the house, with the letter-bag strapped
before him. I heard the step of the servant who

260 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

was crossing the hall on his way to my uncle's
study. In a few moments I heard Mrs. Middle-
ton's voice on the stairs ; and, about an hour after
that, when it was getting quite dark, and I was
leaving the library, I met Mrs. Swift, who told
me that my aunt wished to speak to me in her
dressing-room.

There is something very apt to make one feel
nervous in the fact of being sent for ; and if it
happens to be immediately after the arrival of the
post, all the more so. I walked up-stairs in conse-
quence with a kind of feeling that something had
happened or was going to happen ; so that when I
opened the door, and saw at one glance that my
aunt was much agitated and in tears, I felt
frightened.

" What has happened ?*" I exclaimed. " What
is it? Who is ill?"

" Nobody— nothing of that kind," she replied,
" but it is painful (she paused, struggled with

ELLEN MIDDLETON.

herself, and went on) — " it is painful, and you
must prepare yourself, my dear child, to hear
something that will shock and grieve you. Henry*"
(she looked into my face with intense anxiety) —
" Henry has made us all very unhappy, but you^ my
child, you'' (she seized both my hands and put
them upon her eyes, as if to give herself courage
to speak) " it will make you miserable. What
shall I say to you, my own love? He is utterly
unworthy of you ; he has forgotten you, Ellen —
given up all thoughts of you ; he is "

" Is he going to be married?" I eagerly ex-
claimed ; " speak, dearest aunt, speak — is it so V

" He is married" (she replied, in a tone of deep
dejection), " disgracefully married !"

She looked up in my face, and seemed quite
bewildered at the expression of my countenance.
I was expecting her next words with breathless
anxiety, and could only repeat, " To whom, to
whom ?"

262 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

" You could not have imagined it," she an-
swered— " you could not have believed it possible ;
he has married that girl whom you saw at Bridman
—Alice Tracy."

Married to Alice Tracy ! Was it possible ?
What a crowd of conjectures, recollections, suppo-
sitions, and fears, rushed upon me at that moment !

" What does he say about it ? What does he
write? When did it happen? May I see his
letter ? " were the questions which I addressed
with breathless rapidity to Mrs. Middleton, who
seemed entirely taken aback by the manner in
which I received this startling intelligence.

" Here is a strange letter," she said, " from
Henry himself; another from my father, who, as
you may imagine, is indignant ; and one from
Mrs. Tracy, which is at once impertinent and
hypocritical. I hardly know whether I am acting
rightly in showing you Henry's. It is so extra-
ordinar)'^; but you must explain to me several

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 263

things which I have never hitherto questioned you
about ; and, perhaps together, we may find out
the secret of this wretched marriage. I have not
ventured to show this strange letter to your uncle ;
he thinks that it is only from my father that I
have heard of Henry's marriage ; and I am afraid
I am doing wrong in letting you see it ; but I

am so bewildered '"*

I interrupted her by drawing the letters almost
forcibly out of her hand. She suffered me to do
so, and watched me while I read them. I was
conscious of this at first ; but the interest was so
absorbing, that I soon forgot her presence, and
everything, but the letters themselves. I read
Henry's first : it was as follows: —

'' My dear Sister,
" You have known me long enough not to be
surprised at any extravagance that I may be guilty
of. You know also that I am somewhat of a

264 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

fatalist, and that I maintain that our destiny in
life is marked out for us in a manner which we
can neither withstand nor counteract. I have
just done what is commonly called a foolish thing —
very likely it is foolish ; all I can say is, that I
could not help doing it. It is done, and therefore
the fewer remonstrances or lamentations that are
made on the subject the better. I am married.

Last Thursday I married, at Church, Mrs.

Tracy's grand-daughter. Her name is Alice ;
she is very pretty, and has been well brought up.
She has five thousand pounds of her own, left
her by an uncle, who died some time ago. I have,
as you know, about as much. My father, of
course, refuses to see her; and, I conclude, Mr.
Middleton will do the same. Do you remember,
Mary, the time when, sitting by my bedside, you
would kiss my forehead, and tell me how you
would love my wife? We used to talk of her,
and describe her. She was to be tall ; her eyes

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 265

were to be dark, and their long fringing lashes
were to sweep her cheek ; her throat was to be
white and graceful as a swan's ; genius was to give
light to her eyes, and eloquence to her words ;
and you, sister, you^ on my marriage-day, were
to have placed the blossoms of orange flower in
the dark hair of my bride. You remember it,
don't you ? Well, my bride is fair, very fair ;
but not like the bride we had imaoined — or rather
that we had foreseen ; for, sister, we have seen
her, have we not — walking in beauty by our
sides ? Have we not gazed upon her till we have
fancied her a thing too bright, too lovely, for the
earth she treads upon ? My bride was not kissed
by you; she stood by my side, and you were not
there to say, ' God bless her I ' She put her cold
hand into mine, and looked steadily into my face ;
there was no colour in her cheek ; no emotion in
her voice. It was all as calm as the life that
lies before me. Mary, you had better write and

VOL. I. N

266 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

wish me joy ; and tell Ellen to wish me joy too ;
but do not show my letter to your husband ; it
is not calm enough for his inspection.

" Yours, dear Mary, ever yours,

" Henry Lovell."

There was something inexpressibly painful to
me in the tone of this letter ; it seemed the sequel
of one part of my last conversation with Henry ; a
pure and innocent existence, he had said, must be
sacrificed, and doomed to hopeless disappointment,
if I persisted in my refusal. I had persisted, and
Alice was sacrificed, though to what I knew not ;
but to some mysterious necessity — to some secret
obligation. A loveless marriage — a lonely passage
through life — and God only knew what secret
trials — what withering of the heart — what solitude
of the soul — what measure of that hope deferred,
which makes the heart sick — of that craving void
which nothing fills, were to be hers, who had

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 267

grown up and blossomed like the rose in the
wilderness, and who had been, like her own poor
flower, too rudely transplanted, doomed perhaps
like it, to wither and to die. It was strange, that,
never having seen Alice but once, I should have
felt such a deep and complete conviction of
her goodness and purity, of the angelic nature of
the spirit which was shrouded in that fair form,
that as the idea of guilt in her intercourse with
Henry, so now, that of worldliness, of ambition, or
of indelicacy, in having made this secret marriage,
never presented itself to my mind. Perhaps it
might yet turn out well ; he might grow to love
and to prize her, and she would stand between him
and me like an angel of peace. He could not but
admire the faultless beauty of her face ; the native
poetry of her mind; the calm simplicity of her
character. I said this to myself; but while I said
it, my heart whispered a denial. I knew Henry
too well. I had seen too clearly what he admired
n2

268 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

in me — what subdued him in some measure to my
influence, even in his fiercest moments of irritation.
It was the very points in my mind and character
which were most different from hers. The very
defects in myself, that made me look upon her, as
a lost and ruined sinner might gaze on a picture
of the blessed Virgin, these very defects were what
rivetted and enthralled him. His last words rang
in my ears as I looked on his blotted and hasty
signature, and my heart sunk within me as I felt
" that all was not over between us."

The next letter I read was from Mr. Lovell ; it
was thus worded : —

" My dear Mary,
" Your affection for your brother has always
been so great, that I dread the effect which my
present communication will have upon you. It
will take you by surprise, as it has done me. That
Henry should give us subjects of regret and annoy-

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 269

ance would be no strange occurrence ; but that he
(the goodness of whose understanding, at least, has
never been called in question) — that he should
have acted in so deplorably foolish a manner, is
more than one would be prepared for ; the natural
refinement of his character alone might have pre-
served him from a connexion which is really dis-
graceful. It is better to tell you the fact at once,
for you certainly could never have imagined or
foreseen such an event. Your brother, without
having made the slightest communication to me, or
to any one else, as far as I can find out, married,
last Thursday, at Bromley Church, the grand-
daughter of the woman who was your nurse, and
afterwards his. He looks wretchedly ill and un-
happy, and gives no explanation of his conduct,
further than by repeating, that as he was certain
that I would not give my consent to his marriage
(and he is right there), he thought it best to put
the matter at once beyond discussion. In some

270 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

ways, bad as it is, it might have been worse. I
find that the girl is only seventeen— very handsome
— has been well brought up for a person in her
rank of life, and has a fortune of 5000/. I have
refused to see her, as I am determined to mark my
indignation to Henry in the strongest manner ; and
I never, under any circumstances, will consent to
see her relations, who have behaved, in my opinion,
as ill as possible in hurrying on this marriage.

'* Some time hence, it may be advisable to notice
his wife; and, for his sake, to try as much as pos-
sible to withdraw her from the society and the
influence of her relations ; but this will be a sub-
ject for after-consideration.

" And now, my dear Mary, God bless you.
I feel for you, as I know you will for me,
in this unpleasant affair. I hope your beautiful
Ellen will not take to heart this abominable mar-
riage. Mr. Middleton was perfectly right in pre-
venting her from throwing herself away on that

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 271

worthless brother of yours ; but I wish with all my
heart they had eloped together.

" Your affectionate Father,

" William Lovell."

Mrs. Tracy's letter was as follows : —
" Madam,

" The announcement of Mr. LovelPs marriage
with my granddaughter, Alice, will probably have
surprised you disagreeably. As he has, I find,
written by this day's post to communicate it to
you, I take the liberty of addressing to you a few
lines on the subject. I grieve that myself or any
one belonging to me should be the means of
causing you grief or annoyance. But, madam,
remember who it was that said, ' Judge not, and
you shall not be judged ; condemn not, and you
shall not be condemned." Obey that injunction
now, and visit not the sins of others on an angel
of goodness and purity, — the dust of whose feet.

272 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

some whom you cherish in your bosom are not
worthy to wipe off. I Jove you, Mrs. Middleton,
and would not willingly give you pain ; but do
not try me too severely by ill-usage of that child,
whom my dying son bequeathed to me, and who is
now your brother's wife. As God will judge one
day betwixt you and me, be kind to her; her
presence and her prayers may sanctify your home,
and bring down a blessing on your head. If you
are tempted to say in your heart, ' Why did this
angel of goodness and purity consent to a secret
marriage ? — why did this saint, whose prayers are to
bring down a blessing on our home, enter our
family without our sanction ? ' — if you are tempted
to say this, Mrs. Middleton — yet say it not. Alice
has lived alone with her flowers, and with her
Bible. She has never opened a novel; she has
never conversed with any one but me, and with
him who is now her husband, and that but little.
She knows nothing of the world and its customs.

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 273

She was asked as Rebecca was asked — ' Wilt
thou go with this man ? ' and she said * I will go.'
I told her it was her duty to marry Mr. Lovell,
and she married him ; and if you should say, Mrs.
Middleton, that it was not her duty to marry him,
and that I deceived her as well as you, — again I
say, * Judge not, condemn not ;' and thus you
may escape a fearful judgement — an awful con-
demnation."

" Is not that letter the very height of cant and
impertinence?" said my aunt, as I laid it down on
the table.

" It is a strange letter," I answered ; " but what
she says of Alice I am certain must be true. It
tallies exactly with the impression she made upon
me, and with what I should have supposed her part
to have been in the whole affair."

" But how can her grandmother justify her own
conduct to herself, if it is so ? ''

274 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

" God only knows," I answered ; " but if you
love me, my dearest aunt, — if you wish me to be
happy, — if my supplications have any weight with
you "

" If they have, Ellen ?"

" No, no !" I exclaimed, — "not if— I will not
say if they have, for I know they have. I know
you love me, and I know that you will do all you
can to make Henry happy with Alice. 1 shall not
have a moment's peace if they are not happy.*"

" Angel !" said my aunt, as she pressed her
lips to my cheek. I drew back with a thrill of
horror.

" Never call me an angel, — never say that again :
I cannot bear it. I am not disclaiming, — I am
not humble, — I am only cowardly. I cannot ex-
plain to you everything ; indeed, I hardly know if
I understand myself, or Henry, or anything ; but
thus much I do know, that if Alice Tracy has
gained his regard — wildly as he talks in that

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 275

Strange letter — if she has a hold on his affections,
I shall bless her every day of my life, — she will
have saved me from inexpressible misery. Oh,
my dearest dear aunt, — write to Henry, write to
Alice to-day, — immediately: do not wait for my
uncle's permission — write at once.'"

I seized on the inkstand, and putting paper and
pen before her, I stood by in anxious expectation.
She sighed heavily, and then said to me : —

" Ellen, will you never again speak openly to
me? If you did not care about Henry, what has
made you so wretched lately? Why are your
spirits broken ? — why is your cheek pale and your
step heavy ? You deceive yourself, my child ; you
love Henry, and it is only excitement that at this
moment gives you false strength.'"

" Whether I ever have loved Henry," I repUed,
"is a mystery to myself. I think not ;— indeed I
believe I can truly say that I never loved him;
though at one moment I fancied that 1 did : and

276 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

if, yesterday, you had come to me and told me
that my uncle had consented to my marrying him,
— nay, that he wished me to do so; — had you
yourself asked me to marry your brother, I should
have refused — yesterday, to-day, always."

" Then you have quarrelled with him," quickly
rejoined Mrs. Middleton ; " and this marriage
of his is the result of wounded feeling, — per-
haps of a misunderstanding between you. Poor
Henry!"

There was a little irritation in my aunf s manner
of saying these last words ; and I was on the point
of telling her what Henry had proposed and urged
upon me in our last interview, and of thus justify-
ing myself from any imputation of having behaved
ill to him ; but I instantly felt that this would be
unfair and ungenerous, especially at this moment.
Besides, was I not in his power, and could I
venture to accuse him who held in his hands the
secret of my fate ? So again I shut up my heart,

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 277

and closed my lips to her who loved me with
a love which would have made the discovery of
that fatal secret almost amount to a death-blow.

She seemed now to understand better my anxiety
for the happiness of her brother and of his young
wife. She seemed to think that I was conscious of
having, in some manner or other, behaved ill to
Henry, and driven him to this marriage, and that
I was anxious to make all the amends in my
power. But when she had drawn the paper before
her, and was beginning to write, she put down her
pen, and exclaimed : " But if he does not love her,
what induced him to choose her ? To make us all
wretched ! — to inflict upon himself such a con-
nexion ! I cannot understand it ! "

Again and again she cross-questioned me about
Alice, about that one memorable visit of mine to
Bridman manor, about Henry's manner to her,
and hers to him. I answered in the way best cal-
culated to remove her prejudices, to allay her
anxieties, to encourage her hopes of eventual happi-

278 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

ness for Henry. My angry feelings with regard
to him had for the time quite subsided; I pitied
him from the bottom of my heart, and remembered
what he had said of a similarity in our destinies.
It seemed to me, that he too was bound by some
stern necessity, by some secret influence, to work
mischief to himself and to others ; and it was with
intense eagerness that after Mrs. Middleton had
written a kind and soothing letter to him (in which
she expressed the hope that when in London, where
we were going in three months' time, she should
see Alice, whom she was prepared to receive and
to love as a sister) I sealed it, and gave it to the
servant who was just setting off for the post town.
She wrote a few lines also to Mrs. Tracy, in which
she expressed, in severe terms, her sense of the
impropriety, if not of the guilt of her conduct with
respect to her own grandchild, as well as with
regard to a family, whose indignation she could
not but feel that she had justly incurred. Her
letter to her father she did not communicate to me.

ELLEN MIDDLETON. 279

Mr. Middleton took little notice of the whole
affair. One day that his wife was beginning to
discuss the subject before him, he said, " My dear
Mary, there are persons and things about which
the less is said the better, and your brother and his
marriage are of that number." Another time, when
she remarked to him that I was looking much
better, he observed, "1 am glad that she has come
to her senses." Now and then there came letters
from Henry to Mrs. Middleton, but she never
showed them to me. When I made any inquiries
about them, she told me such facts as that he had

taken a small house in street ; that he had

been with his father once or twice, but that he still
refused to see Alice. When I asked if Henry
seemed happy, or at least contented, she answered
that it had always been difficult to make out his
state of mind from what he wrote, and now more
so than ever ; and then she would abruptly change
the subject. My intense curiosity, my still more
intense anxiety to hear about them, seemed to give

280 ELLEN MIDDLETON.

her the idea, that, though my pride had been
wounded, I still cared for him. Indeed so much
of my future peace of mind turned upon the direc-
tion which his feelings would take, that my man
ner was probably well calculated to give this im-
pression. In despair of overcoming it, unable to
speak out, too proud to repeat what I saw she did
not believe, 1 shut myself up in that resolute
silence, in that systematic reserve, which had now
become habitual to me ; but I looked forward to
our journey to London with nervous anxiety, and
saw the time for its approach with a mixture of
hope and fear.

END OF VOL. I.

LONBON :
BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.

UNIVERSITY OP ILUNOIS-UMANA

3 0112 045846620

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